Apocalypse, One Man
by Skipper311
Summary: A long time ago, a man by the name of Mako Rutledge died in the wastes of the Outback. From his corpse, the beast known as Roadhog rose. For years, he has been content to pillage and destroy. But even Roadhog knows what is born of the Outback does not die so easily. This is the story of a war veteran, a feared criminal, a one-man apocalypse.
1. Prologue: Epilogue

_I would like to thank Yay899 and VMLM for their prereading for this chapter._

* * *

Some people had incredible pain tolerance, Roadhog mused, as he cast his hook into the last security guard. To his credit, rather than keeling over on the spot, the man made a valiant effort to pull the hook out.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. I'm told it's not the sticking in that hurts… it's the pulling out." To emphasize the point, he tugged on the chain, the nails in the hook digging in deeper. That seemed to do the job, the guard finally passing out. Or dying. Roadhog didn't really care.

Such was the life of the pair of criminals. Break in, kill anything that moves, get the loot, get out. It wasn't the smart way of doing things, but between Junkrat and himself, the two had enough firepower to get away with it. Roadhog wasn't sure if they had enough brains between the two of them to do things the smart way, anyway.

"What do you think's in the vault, huh?"

Speak of the devil. Junkrat was already sticking charges onto the vault door.

"Didn't you look up what's in here?"

"That's your job, Roadie. I just blow things up."

"This was _your_ idea, you idiot."

Junkrat bristled at the rebuke. "Well, it doesn't matter now. Whatever it is, it's ours!"

Roadhog groaned.

* * *

 _Hitching the chain onto old man Irwin's pick-up, Mako Rutledge walked back to his family tow truck. It was showing its age, but it still got the job done. He ducked into the driver's seat, squeezing in. Being tall wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Throwing the switch, the familiar clink and grind of chain hummed behind Mako. Perhaps he should have gotten out to check the pick-up was properly suspended._

 _Mako always did like living dangerously._

 _Foot on the gas, Make pulled the old rig out of the mud. Irwin had gotten it stuck years ago, but had put off pulling it out. Apparently, he was moving, and finally had a use for the thing. He rolled down the window as Irwin walked up to him._

 _"How much I owe ya?" Mako waved him off._

 _"Don't worry about it. Didn't know you were moving."_

 _Irwin gave him a look. "Didn't you know? They're kicking us all out."_

 _That got his attention. "What?"_

 _The old man snorted. "Yup. Government's decided to just hand the outback over to the damn tin cans, like we don't matter. Damn cunts."_

 _"They can't be serious. We live here." Make shook his head, as if that would clear everything up. "We fought a damn war to keep it, and now they're just giving it to them?"_

 _For a moment, the two paused, contemplative silence between them. Mako's eyes grew distant. "Mum… Pa…" Idly, he registered Irwin's hand on his shoulder._

 _A sigh. "They've given us two weeks to clear out, and that's it." The old man looked at Mako, but Mako wasn't looking at him anymore._

 _"No. They've given us two weeks to get ready."_

* * *

In hindsight, letting Junkrat plan their "big escape" was probably a bad idea. But he was the boss, so now Roadhog had to watch Junkrat "charter" a plane to their next heist, with him playing the part of "muscle."

The things one does to get half of an untold fortune.

"Now, maybe you didn't hear me right the first time. I said you fly us to Numbani, or my friend here is going to teach you how it feels to be a fish on a line." Impressive. He didn't think Junkrat was capable of using metaphors. Or similes. Roadhog never could keep the two straight.

"I-i-i can't do that! Even if I wanted to, I'd have to get enough fuel, explain where I was going…."

Roadhog took a step forward.

"…I'll see what I can do. Just… please!"

Simple solutions.

* * *

 _Taking one's first life is never easy. Lucky for Mako, his first kill was on an Omnic. Mako hadn't fought in the omnic crisis, but he was raised in the warrior tradition. Or at least, the shotgun tradition. Mum's favorite._

 _He'd spotted it, twenty paces out, from the bushes. The first convoys were soldiers and peacekeepers – clearly meant to "encourage" any few remaining stragglers. Mako focused on one in front. He had a rifle. Some standard issue, most likely._

 _Ten paces now. It was just like hunting feral goats. Mako relaxed._

 _Five paces. Three. Two._

 _Bang._

 _Chaos erupted as Mako and his fellow fighters sprung their trap. Scrap and shrapnel flew through the air, tearing down the first lines as the rest scattered for cover. Mako did his best to tune out the screams, the screeches. Some mechanical, some biological._

 _The fighting turned to brawling. Lines were broken, cover was destroyed, and any semblance of order vanished. Mako found himself in a shootout with a particularly stern looking armed guard._

 _"Why are you fighting? What does this accomplish but bloodshed and pain?"_

 _Mako snarled. "What's wrong with accomplishing a little bit of bloodshed and pain in the name of my home?"_

 _A bullet whizzed over his head, and Mako returned the favor with a ball of scrap. Reloading, he reached in his pockets to find them empty. Damn. Casting about, he settled on the head and arm of a broken bot and shoved it in._

 _"This won't change anything. You'll just throw your life away for nothing."_

 _He found it deeply satisfying to blow an omnic in two with another's head. "No. I'll die for something worth fighting for."_

* * *

Roadhog considered leaving a small tip for the pilot. After all, the plane they ended up with didn't exactly have wide seats. He had to tear the armrest between two in order to sit comfortably.

"So nice to fly in a real plane for once. Those small ones get a little cramped between you and me, you know what I'm saying? Well, mostly you." Junkrat shifted in his seat, leaning over to Roadhog. "Mind getting me a snack? I'm kind of hungry."

Roadhog muttered to himself, but got up anyway. He might as well get something for himself.

Waddling his way up the aisle to the back, he rummaged through the pickings. Some chips, some peanuts, some soda. The usual airline fare.

Ooh. Pretzel nuggets filled with peanut butter. Swiping two for Junkrat and three for himself, he grabbed a couple cans of fizzy drinks before heading back to his seat.

The life of a criminal.

* * *

 _"We're not making any progress. They just keep coming."_

 _Mako did his best to sit at attention, but his mind was elsewhere. No matter how many convoys they ambushed, the omnics kept setting up shop._

 _"Reports say that another wave of Omnic immigrants will be passing through here."_

 _He'd picked up snippets of how the news was portraying them. As terrorists, stubborn bigots who couldn't accept change. It made him sick._

 _"We can't just keep killing omnic troops; they'll just make more. We need to start hitting civilian populations." Mako only barely grasped the moral implications of such an idea. He understood the tactical need to break the Omnics, drive them back to never return. Couldn't wrongly take the life of something that wasn't alive, anyway._

* * *

"What's even in Numbani, anyway?" The two took the back paths around the airport. No need to attract needless attention to the fact that two international criminals had just landed. Despite their generous offer, the pilot was probably going to call the authorities anyway. Better to move fast before they started closing roads.

"I hear there's this gauntlet being kept in the museum. Used to be used by an Overwatch agent. Must be worth a fortune."

"Are you talking about the one in the news?" Junkrat gave him a blank look. "The gauntlet that someone just tried to steal – and failed?"

"Oh, did that happen?"

Roadhog groaned.

* * *

 _They had decided to strike at the heart of the problem. No more omnium, no more Omnics. Simple solutions. The only trouble was that the omnium was the most heavily guarded structure they could have planned to attack. This was no roadside ambush. This was a coordinated assault on a scale the ALF had yet to attempt. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and outcreated._

 _Mako always did like living dangerously._

 _They burst through the doors (and windows, and walls, and several Omnic guards) on the backs of pickups, rusty vans, and old motorcycles. Mako himself rode in on the family tow truck. No better way to send the thing off than for the cause his parents died for, he figured._

 _And die it probably would, if the explosion that wracked the damn thing was any indication. Mako struggled to keep the truck on-course, plowing through Omnics while vaguely trying to dodge fire from guards and turret and his fellow fighters. His companion in the other front seat was spraying wildly with his own hodge-podge assault-rifle-toaster thing._

 _The explosions, the screams, the sound of metal against metal. Mako drank it all in. Even now, as his fellow fighters were throwing around charges and explosives, the factory was shaking. Crumbling. He could feel it. This was their hour._

* * *

It had all been so sudden.

Roadhog's instincts told him to _move_ , and instants later a sniper shot whizzed past his ear. He grabbed Junkrat and pulled him into a side alley. Junkrat was saying, screaming something, but Roadhog barely registered it. Tucked away (as much as you could tuck away a man of his size), trying to find where the sniper was without exposing himself.

That's when he heard the shotgun crack.

That's when he heard Jamison scream.

* * *

 _He wasn't sure how it had gone so wrong._

 _He wasn't sure how long it had been since the explosion._

 _He wasn't sure how long he had left to live._


	2. Dealing With Death

_I would like to thank Yay899 for his prereading of this chapter._

* * *

The first thing Roadhog heard was the crack of the shotgun. The second thing he heard was the scream of Jamison. The third thing he heard was the wind whipping past his ears as he wheeled around and punched their assailant in the gut.

The fourth thing he heard was the satisfying smack of brass against flesh. Snarling, their attacker pulled back. Now Roadhog got a good look at their foe. Cloaked in black, mask of white, a shotgun in each hand.

That was as far as he got before he felt pellets embed themselves in his gut. Another shot rang out; another wave of shot dug into his flesh. Hissing through the pain, he pulled out his own scrap gun and returned fire. More had failed to kill him before.

The masked man (sounded like a man, anyway) sidestepped his first shot and passed through his second, his form now more smoke than man. So he was a ghost. A shotgun-wielding smoke-ghost. Fantastic.

"Junkrat!" Breaking his partner's pain-induced stupor, he heard the familiar sound of grenades being loaded and saw the familiar sight of grenades being fired. Not a single one touched the specter.

Another tracer flew through his hair and he was rudely reminded that there was also a sniper after them. He/she/it/they had moved – a quick glance revealed she (it was a she) now had a clear line of sight down the whole alley. Wonderful.

"Move!" he thundered. The two ran (or more accurately, waddled and hobbled) for cover behind a car as another sniper round narrowly missed.

"I don't know where you heard about the gauntlet," the masked man rasped. "But you shouldn't have come for it."

Rookie mistake. Never give your position away to the enemy if they lose sight of you.

The enemy would probably expect Roadhog to fight the shotgun man and Junkrat to trade with the sniper lady. It would be the simple reaction. If the man-ghost's tactical error was any indication, they didn't expect serious resistance. Bigger mistake.

Junkrat would take the man-ghost. Junkrat had the focus of a two-year old – no way he could track a sniper, especially one that was able to reposition so quickly. A grenade is just as dangerous no matter how far or short it travels, and Junkrat's mastery of mine-fu (his name, not Roadhog's) was something few enemies expected. Man-ghost probably couldn't shoot while he was in his ghost form. Otherwise, why engage in a tangible form at all? Junkrat would have plenty of time to reload and aim his shots if the man-ghost tried the smoke trick again.

While Roadhog's range was limited, it was deceptively long, and Roadhog knew his limits better than anyone else. The sniper would have to show her face to take any shot, and Roadhog would be waiting with his trusty hook. At that point, she'd be out of her element and into his. All he had to do was reposition slightly behind a different piece of cover, and she'd be in range. He'd already picked out three potential locations.

Roadhog slightly elbowed Junkrat. Junkrat nodded without looking back. Good. The plan was set.

"Cheers love! The cavalry's here!"

Well. There went that plan.

The masked man snarled. "You two again? This time, you won't get away."

A young woman zipped past them, two pistols in hand, spraying wildly. Overhead, an armored gorilla leaped into the fray. Roadhog and Junkrat remained hunkered behind the car, the sounds of battle around them. The pulses of lasers, the cracks of shotguns, the hum of sniper rounds.

In the relative safety of cover, Roadhog's mind reviewed the two new parties. They seemed familiar. Where had Roadhog seen those two before? Not in person, but somewhere relatively recent. Like someone was talking about them...

* * *

 _Roadhog leaned into his chair. It was rare that places had chairs that could support his weight, and he was going to enjoy every moment of it. Sliding his mask up just enough to uncover his face, he took a sip of his drink._

 _"Hours ago, two unknown parties attempted to rob a museum exhibit on Overwatch in Numbani."_

 _Of all the places to break in… a museum? Must be a bunch of amateurs. Everyone knows that most stuff at museum exhibits are replicas. The good stuff is always in storage._

 _"Rumors suggest that the break-in was foiled by two former Overwatch agents…."_

* * *

Oh. That's where.

Well, if the authorities were going to handle the problem, Roadhog saw no reason to stick around. He grabbed Junkrat's unconscious body by the arm and made a break for it.

Wait a minute. That wasn't right.

The sounds of combat faded and ceased, but Roadhog barely registered it with Junkrat's bloody, limp body before him. The shots had done more damage to Junkrat's internals than he thought, and with the adrenaline fading, so too was Junkrat's life.

He didn't even hear the pair of heroes walk up to them, barely registered the cheery voice of a young lady.

"Whew! That was something. Hope you two are alri…." Had Roadhog been looking, he might have seen their eyes go wide in recognition. But he had more important matters to attend to.

Roadhog unscrewed the canister top, the familiar smell of anesthetics and hormones wafting through the air. He brought Junkrat's head up with one arm as he shoved the can in Junkrat's face with the other.

"Junkrat, breathe." Junkrat's eyes grew distant.

"Breathe, Junkrat!" Blood spilled from his mouth.

"Jamison! _Breathe!_ " Finally, he took a large breath of the gas. His breathing steadied; his bleeding slowed. His body remained limp; his eyes remained glossy.

Inwardly, Roadhog swore. The gas was meant to help fight through the pain until the various hormones and chemicals kicked in to accelerate the body's own healing. It could treat even major injuries, but not on this magnitude. Junkrat wasn't going to live if he didn't get more help. That meant no treasure for Roadhog. Besides, Junkrat was paying him to keep the bombardier alive.

The things one does to get half of an untold fortune.

Finally, Roadhog acknowledged the two agents, now whispering to each other about what they should do.

"Can you help him?"

That got them to jump a bit. Now they were back to whispering in front of him again. What was he, chopped bacon?

"You know, big guy, Mercy could probably heal him."

The monkey shook his head. "Tracer, you know who those two are, right?"

"We'll cut you a third of the treasure when we sell it."

Oh, yes, the other part of being a criminal – bargaining for your life. At least that got their attention. And Junkrat's, too.

"Oi, I'm not sharing any bit of my half…."

Roadhog groaned. "I'm trying to save your life here, you idiot," he not-so-whispered. A harsh sigh escaped from him. "Fine. A fourth of the treasure… and we'll work for you."

"What? Don't you remember the last time we tried legit?" If Junkrat was well enough to argue with him, maybe he didn't need the treatment. He leaned in… as much as his belly would allow, anyway.

"Listen. These people are with Overwatch. It's illegal to be part of Overwatch. We're not really going legit." Well, aside from the fact they'd probably no longer be allowed to steal or murder or destroy, but Junkrat didn't need to know that right now.

"Will… will we still get to blow stuff up?" Roadhog looked at the agents. The woman looked at the monkey. The monkey shrugged. Good enough.

He grunted an affirmation. He presumed that would be okay with Junkrat, since now he was fully limp in his arms. He cast another look at the pair who now held his employer's life in their hands, who exchanged glances.

"We could use the help, Winston."

"I don't know, Lena…."

"He's dying, for God's sake. Even if they are criminals, we can't let him die like this."

The gorilla hung his head and sighed. "Fine. Hurry, we don't have much time." He pulled out some communicator. "Athena… we have a problem."

* * *

Roadhog wasn't sure what he expected, really, when he climbed onto the ship. The talking gorilla and the zippy-lady were weird enough, but the woman in the angel suit was taking it too far. But he needed them to keep Junkrat alive, so he kept his thoughts to himself. Not that he was usually in the habit of sharing his thoughts.

"I've got the table disinfected. It's not great, but it will have to do. Where's the patient?" Roadhog unceremoniously dumped Junkrat onto holo-globe-table-thing that was apparently going to be Junkrat's surgery bed. The doctor gave him a slight stink eye, but pointed her staff at the bombardier. A stream of yellow touched Junkrat, and Roadhog allowed himself to relax.

"That's not good. It's not working as well as it should be." He tensed right back up again. Junkrat groaned on the table, and Roadhog idly felt his heart race. "I can stabilize his condition, but something is blocking the biotics from fully functioning. I won't be able to treat him fully until we get back."

There was only one thing that mattered to Roadhog right now. "Will he live?"

A smile crossed the doctor's face. "Don't worry. He'll live."

With that, Roadhog waddled over to one of the chairs and plopped into it. He then plopped onto the floor, the remains of the chair splaying across the floor. Too exhausted to care, sleep took him.


	3. Interlude: The Good Doctor

_I would like to thank Yay899 and VMLM for their prereading for this chapter._

* * *

Mercy sighed as she kept the healing stream on Junkrat. Even if he and Roadhog were international criminals, she couldn't let a person die while she could do something. Speaking of the big man, she could see two massive wounds on his chest. She was sorely tempted to patch him up, but given Junkrat's critical condition and the fact Roadhog was capable of sleeping through the pain, she told herself she could help him later.

Looking at her two coworkers, they were at least looking more intact. She wordlessly offered her staff, but the two shook their heads. Winston collapsed wordlessly onto the floor.

"I'm already regretting bringing them along. We should just drop them off with the authorities."

Tracer took a seat in much less dramatic fashion than Roadhog. "I know you, Winston. You weren't going to leave the fella to die."

"No, but… I just don't know what I was thinking. Letting those two work for Overwatch?" He sighed. "I know we're short on numbers right now, but to lower our standards by that much…."

Mercy nodded her head. "Indeed. I was quite surprised when you said you were bringing them aboard."

Winston chuckled. "Believe me, it wasn't the plan at all. We were only going to respond to another sighting of Reaper and Widowmaker."

Tracer flashed her signature smile. "Well, we're all still in one piece."

"I just hope we can stay in one piece when this is all over." Winston shifted nervously in his own chair. "I've seen news reports of their… 'heists' is too small a word. They carry out rampages."

Mercy could only agree. "I had the unfortunate privilege of witnessing the aftermath of one of their rampages. It was in Paris, a couple years ago. It was a disaster. Three streets had to be closed, what with the sheer destruction they left behind. Half the shops were mostly destroyed and the other half were totally destroyed. They took everything not nailed down, and if it was nailed down, they took what it was nailed down to as well. I cannot think of a more… untamable duo than these two."

The gorilla groaned. "Please don't make me regret my decision more, Angela. I'm already half-terrified they're listening."

As if to spook Winston more, the masked man snorted. The assembled agents froze, eyes locked on him. His head bobbed, he snorted again, and it became obvious (as much as it could be obvious to read a masked man) that he was merely asleep and snoring. The three allowed themselves a collective sigh of relief, and shared small smiles and amused looks.

Winston shook his head once more, a tired smile on his face. "I gave them my word, so I suppose we can at least give them a chance. Perhaps we will have to tame the untamable for the good of the world."

With that, the three remained in wordlessness, with only the sounds of Mercy's staff and the occasional snore from Roadhog. Tracer joined the masked man in dreamland a few moments later. The good doctor allowed her thoughts to wander. She had heard of the infamous duo, their exploits punctuating the news every now and again. Quite frankly, their kind made her sick to the core. People who take without consideration, who hurt without remorse. There was not much beyond her oath to do no harm compelling her to help them.

She sighed inwardly. No, that wasn't true. She knew what kind of person she was. A bit too bleeding heart, a bit too idealistic. Even if the world had battered her ideals, she still had the hope for a world without conflict. It was her greatest source of joy. It was the source of her greatest mistakes.

She closed her eyes. No point in dwelling on the past. That's why she had agreed to come back, wasn't it? Overwatch had a chance to be a force for good in the world, despite its tarnished reputation in its waning years. Despite her memories of the failures, the mistakes, the broken bonds…

 _Jack... Gabe…_

Thinking about letting go of the past was a great way to not do that, she noted.

Winston broke her idle thoughts. "You know, he was right about one thing. Overwatch is forbidden from reforming. We're all outlaws now."

Mercy allowed herself a smirk. A tired, somber smirk, but a smirk. "Clearly that didn't stop you from issuing the recall."

Winston returned the expression. "No… no it didn't. This world still needs Overwatch." He sighed. "I just wish… We're not going to have any funding. Any resources. Any help. Gibraltar is mostly self-sustaining, but only just."

"I suppose that means you're going to have to buy less peanut butter then, old friend."

"Please don't say things like that. You're going to give me a heart attack." The two shared another smile. Mercy took another look at Tracer, still fast asleep.

"Speaking of the recall, who else has responded?"

"Genji said he would arrive in a couple days. Something about business with his family."

Genji Shimada, another failure of hers. Not the man, the man he had turned into. Or rather, the machine _she_ turned him into. If only she'd perfected her resurrection technology sooner, the man wouldn't have had to go through an existential crisis or be turned into a weapon of war. It had all worked out in the end, but she still felt a little guilty for not being able to save more of his body.

 _Today was not a good day for moving on._

"Family business?" What business would he have with a family that had kicked him out, left him for dead, then had its criminal empire left for dead by him?

"He didn't elaborate, and I didn't pry." He shrugged, and she shrugged back.

Junkrat stirred, and her head snapped back to her patient. Whatever had been blocking her biotics was fading, and she could see the wounds now closing faster. Mercy heaved a sigh of relief. Still, what had been blocking her biotics in the first place? She didn't have any proper examination equipment, but she could tell the signs of biotics working, for healing or for harm, and Junkrat hadn't had a single one. She turned back to Winston.

"Did you notice anything unusual with him earlier? Did Widowmaker or Reaper have some biotic weapon?"

Winston shook his head. "Not that I saw. Although Roadhog did give him some strange gas to inhale." He walked closer to Mercy, now overlooking Junkrat as well. "Do you think that's what was blocking your biotics?"

"It's a possibility, although I can't know for sure without looking at it. There are some substances that interfere with biotics, but they're not common, and they're certainly not meant to be inhaled." She looked at the still-sleeping giant. "Now I just need to convince a very possibly psychopathic and very definitely sadistic man to let me examine the contents of his canister."

"I wish you the best of luck, doctor."

"Oh, you're not going to help me? You're going to let a poor, defenseless doctor face a terrifying criminal alone?"

Winston gave her a look. Mercy stifled a laugh.

"Okay, okay. Mostly defenseless." Winston rolled his eyes.

Junkrat rolled his arms. Then he yawned. A few lipsmacks, eyerubs, and blinks later, he sat up.

"Oi, where am I?" After scanning the room, his eyes went wide.

Mercy did her best to calm him down. "You need to relax and lie down, Junkrat. You've only just recovered."

"Oh, no, I won't let you take me alive! Come on Roadie, we gotta blow this joint!" He skittered over to Roadhog, nearly tripped over his peg-leg, and began shaking him furiously. Mercy wondered if all of her hard work was going to be for naught.

Slowly, with a rumble, Roadhog woke up. He shuddered, and groaned. Mercy tensed up, ready to intervene if he moved to strike Junkrat. (She really hoped Winston was kidding when she said he was going to leave her alone to face the big man by himself. She hadn't quite perfected the ability to revive herself.)

"Roadie! _Roadie!_ Come on, we gotta go!"

"Junkrat… why are you waking me up?"

"We gotta escape, Roadhog!"

Roadhog groaned. "You don't remember, do you?"

"Remember? Remember what?"

Mercy mouthed to Winston, "You still want to keep them?"

Given how long Winston looked at the two troublemakers in response, she guessed he was sorely tempted to answer, "No."


	4. A Different Kind of Outlaw

_I would like to thank Yay889 and WublessFeat for their prereading for this chapter._

* * *

Roadhog was the employee of Junkrat. He still had the contract to prove it. In that contract, listed among his duties was the "preservation of Jamison Fawkes." His compensation was "equal share in all heists" and "half of the lump sum received from the sale of [REDACTED]". Roadhog respected the contract because he, despite several accounts to the contrary, was a human.

Roadhog was having serious second thoughts about honoring that contract.

"I can't believe you made this decision without consulting me!"

For the seventh time in a row, Roadhog made the conscious choice to not strangle Junkrat. "I made this decision to _save your life_ , you idiot. Would you have rather I let you die?"

"Hmph!" Junkrat crossed his arms. How intimidating. "I'm not giving them one bit of my cut."

Idly, Roadhog realized a bit of chair was still sticking into his rear. With a heave and some great effort on his part, he stood up, stretching.

"Come on, Roadie, don't you remember the last time we tried to go legit? Terrible idea. Can't believe you would suggest that to me."

Roadhog allowed the revisionist history to slide. "I told you, Junkrat, although you probably don't remember because you were busy _dying._ Overwatch isn't 'legit' anymore. We're all outlaws now."

Junkrat's face turned thoughtful. "Is that so? Long as I don't have to save any damn scrap-heads, maybe scrap a few, get paid for it, I'm cool with it."

Roadhog internally groaned. He hadn't thought of that in his panic. He had no love for metalkind, perhaps even more hatred than Junkrat, if less outspoken. No doubt he would have to work with some, too. Not to mention their net income was probably about to go way down.

The things one does to get half – no, a quarter now – of an untold fortune.

His eyes met the monkey's for a brief moment. The look on his face told him their concerns would be taken into consideration. It'd have to do.

"Oh, Roadhog!" The doctor got his attention, and he turned to face her. "Now that Junkrat has recovered, let me take a look at your stomach."

Without reason to resist, Roadhog shrugged as she approached him.

"I'm Dr. Angela Ziegler, by the way. Mercy for short." She gestured to the monkey. "That's Winston, our commander." The monkey gave a small wave.

The doctor then pointed to the young lady, still asleep. "That's Tracer." Mercy and Winston then looked at him.

It then came to him that they expected his name.

"Roadhog." He pointed to Junkrat. "Junkrat."

"G'day." His companion offered one of his toothy smiles and a finger snap.

The doctor rolled her eyes with a huff. "We know that much. Did your parents name you Roadhog?"

Roadhog snorted.

Mercy sighed. "Are you going to tell us your names?"

Roadhog's mask was enough statement enough.

"Jamison Fawkes, the one and only, at your service!"

Roadhog's mask was clearly not statement enough.

"And Roadie's here name is… uhh…."

Roadhog remained impassive and professional. Externally, anyway.

Mercy was really not helping. She gave Junkrat a small smile and shook his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fawkes." A bold-faced lie if Roadhog ever saw one, but he had to give it to her. She was good.

Turning once again to Roadhog, Mercy bent over and examined his chest wound. "Oh, that's bad. Certainly not untreatable, but bad." She turned on her staff, and Roadhog absentmindedly watched the flesh and skin regrow and push the pellets out.

"Oi, that's amazing doc!" Junkrat sounded like a kid in a candy store. Strange. It usually took high explosives to make him sound like that. "Now I can finally test my explosives without fear of permanent injury."

That explained it.

Mercy looked aghast at the idea. "Absolutely not. The Caduceus staff is meant only for in-combat and severe emergencies. It is _not_ for minor, non-pressing, _preventable_ injuries."

Junkrat inclined his head forward. "Is it for… major, work-related injuries?"

Mercy looked like she wanted to hit the bombardier with her staff. Roadhog allowed himself rumbling chuckle. Junkrat joined in with his own high-pitched laugh, and the doctor retreated to the relative safety of a seat on the far side.

The monkey – Winston – took the opportunity to step forward. Roadhog and Junkrat quieted their laughter. Eventually. Winston adjusted his glasses before addressing the two.

"Now, I understand you two may have certain… norms about how you live. But now that you'll be working with Overwatch, there will be certain things expected of you."

Roadhog tried to fall asleep standing.

* * *

After the mission statement and briefing from the monkey, the rest of the ride was uneventful, insomuch as you could call travelling with Junkrat uneventful. Eventually, the base came into sight, and the landing followed soon after.

Roadhog had seen a lot of things in his life. He was a well-travelled man, a lived and learned man. Well, a lived man, anyway. He had not seen many people larger than him.

"Angela! It is good to see you again," boomed the larger-than-life man waiting in the hangar bay, hands on hips, chest out, almost posing. He wore a t-shirt that was probably two sizes too tight, pants two sizes too baggy. His body was scarred, jagged marks across his inhuman muscles. His left eye was not flesh but glass.

The doctor smiled at the giant as she descended the landing ramp. "I've been gone for only a few days, Reinhardt." The man responded with a booming laugh.

His laugh stopped when he caught sight of Roadhog and Junkrat.

Roadhog kept eye contact with the giant, eventually swaggering right up to him. It was an experience, having to look up at someone for once, even if only slightly. Yet Roadhog would not be cowed so simply, and locked stares with Reinhardt. Quiet and not-so-quiet breathing were the only sounds for a long moment, Roadhog sizing up the man and with no doubt the man was sizing up him.

Eventually, Roadhog broke the staring contest, and waddled past him. He parked himself part the rest of the arrival committee and turned around, watching the rest of the passengers leave the plane and mingle. Junkrat, while rather social amongst the bunch, never went long without making eye contact with his bodyguard.

Eventually, he saw one man break away from the pack and approach him. This man was clad in wide-brimmed hat and red patterned poncho. His left arm was visibly metallic and prosthetic. On his belt buckle were the letters "BAMF" engraved. The various fixings around his belt jingled and clattered as he swaggered his way over.

He looked ridiculous.

Stopping in front of Roadhog, he extended his right hand.

"Name's McCree. Pleasure to meet you."

Roadhog gripped the man's hand and shook it. The cowboy's grip was as firm as they went, and he might have been fooled into thinking he had shook his metallic hand. Underneath his mask, he grinned. He had understood the message, though he betrayed no sign of it. He knew he didn't need to.

He snorted in acknowledgement. "Roadhog."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Hog. Welcome to the team."

* * *

Winston eventually showed the two scavengers to their rooms. Rooms, Roadhog noted, and was very grateful for. He needed his space. They were practically across the hall from each other, but it was space enough.

The room was bare, to put it mildly. There was a bed that would certainly not support his weight, a chair too small in three dimensions, and a desk that was only half his size. He had no fixings to decorate the room with, as the constant travel he and Junkrat embarked on gave them few permanent homes.

Idly, he realized he'd have to retrieve his motorcycle at a later date. Oh well. It was at no risk, parked in one of the few safe houses the two kept.

With nothing else to do and still a couple hours before dinner, Roadhog decided to busy himself with a little redecorating. He moved the bed to one side, and pulled the mattress off onto the now empty floor. He pushed the desk into the far opposite corner, and positioned the little (relative to him) chair next to the mattress as a nightstand of sort.

His work complete, Roadhog sat down onto the mattress. Then he lay down. Then he closed his eyes.


	5. Escaped Blood

_I'd like to thank Yay899 and Hammeh for their prereading for this chapter._

* * *

Roadhog was rudely woken by a dull, booming thud. Shooting straight up, he scrambled to his feet and barreled out the door. Gripping his hook in its holster, he tried to place where the explosion came from as he ran down the hallway. Junkrat had gone and wandered off again, and of course he had to be far away when he found trouble. If Junkrat was so concerned about staying alive, perhaps he shouldn't stray so far away from-

Roadhog stopped, nearly tripping over his own momentum. They weren't in the Outback. They weren't on the run from the authorities. They were at some old Overwatch base, in relative safety. Junkrat was probably experimenting, as usual. If they had been under attack, surely there would have been some alarm or announcement. The man stood still and glanced around. In his furious panic, he had scared some of the resident staff, who were now peeking from corners and doorways at him. For a long moment, Roadhog stood there dumbly, blinking underneath his mask. He didn't even flinch when another explosion shook the base.

Apparently he had gotten the attention of the other agents, as he saw several – the monkey, the doctor, and a dwarf – running towards him. He turned his whole body to face them.

"What the hell is going on?" the dwarf shouted at him. How pleasant.

Winston shook his head. "What on earth were you thinking? You can't just cause a commotion like that." Another boom. "And what is _that_? Are we under attack?"

"Junkrat." The three agents looked at Roadhog in varying levels of disbelief.

The doctor practically blanched. " _Junkrat?_ He's doing… _this?_ "

As if punishment for doubting him, the next explosion knocked her flat onto the ground. He snorted with certainty. "Junkrat."

That day, Roadhog learned gorillas could purse their lips in frustration.

* * *

"I can't believe they're limiting my ability to experiment. A genius needs his space to imagine and be creative!" Junkrat wildly gesticulated to his companion at the cafeteria. In an attempt to allow tensions to relax, Roadhog had steered Junkrat to one of the tables in the corner, away from most of the other staff and agents. Perhaps wisely, the rest of the residents respected their decision; no one else was sitting with the pair. An entire ring of unoccupied tables surrounded the former scavengers.

"And how was I supposed to know those turrets belonged to the dwarf? They were shooting at me! And after they made all that fuss about how we were going to be a part of this team…." Roadhog said nothing, continuing to eat. His mask was shifted up, only revealing his mouth. Not that anyone other than Junkrat saw it. He'd sat with his back to the rest of the room.

Idly, Roadhog noted the food here was better than the usual pickings in the wastes, but he'd had better.

Slowly, Roadhog pushed Junkrat's ramblings to the back of his mind, and turned his ears to the rest of the cafeteria. With the chatter filling the room, it wasn't easy to pick out separate conversations, but one thing was clear. The two had made a… _strong_ impression on their first day.

"Don't unpack yet," he instructed Junkrat, interrupting the bombardier's monologue. The wiry man tilted his head and gave him a look. "At the very least, keep your most important things together."

"Eh?" The two shared a look. "Ah. Gotcha."

Roadhog figured he was going to keep his half of the treasure after all.

* * *

Roadhog emerged from his room in the dead of night. Quietly closing the door behind him, he slowly walked the halls of the base. If the two were going to make an escape, they would need to get familiar with the layout. Roadhog figured that the monkey was not going to give him the blueprints to the place if he asked nicely or not-so-nicely, and snooping around the backways and pipes would be a great way to attract even more suspicion. So for now, Roadhog familiarized himself with the base, noting where the security cameras were and where each hallway lead.

In his wandering, he stumbled across a room, lights still on. Curiousity got the better of him, and he peeked in. Inside was the doctor, out of her suit and in doctor's robes, writing something. A quick glance around in the hall confirmed he'd wandered into the med bay. Before he could leave, the doctor noticed him.

"Oh, Roadhog. What are you doing up at this hour? You should be sleeping."

Indignantly, he inclined his head at her and pointed.

"Oh, not you too. I get that enough from the others." She sighed. "I'm just finishing up some reports to file away. A doctor's work is never done, you know. Oh!" She perked up and pulled another file from her desk. "While you're here and up, could you help me? I need to complete your medical profile for our records."

As if Roadhog was foolish enough to volunteer that kind of information. But she already had the file clipped to her clipboard, pen in hand.

"Name?"

Roadhog said nothing. She sighed.

"Age?"

Roadhog said nothing. She grimaced and gave him a look.

"Age?" A little more forceful.

Still he said nothing. This time, the doctor sighed forcefully and rose from her chair, stepping in front of her desk.

"If you are not going to give the information willingly, I will have no choice but to have them interrogate it out of you."

As amusing as it would have been to keep toying with the doctor, Roadhog figured it was not worth the trouble to make her more suspicious of him. He grunted in concession.

"Thank you. Now, age?"

He paused. "Forty-eight." No reason to lie about such minor details.

"Name?"

He looked at her. She knew his name. She sighed, shook her head, and carried on.

"Weight?"

He shrugged. He'd never had a compelling reason to check.

"No matter. Please take off your… weapons," she said, rolling over the word with distaste, "and step onto the scale."

He looked at the tiny scale. He then looked at her. She gestured once again to the scale. Rolling his eyes, he took off his chain and hook and other various armaments, and stood on the scale. To his mild surprise, it did not break.

"Five-hundred and fifty," she read with some surprise. If she expected a larger or smaller number, Roadhog couldn't tell. He stepped off and put his weapons back on.

"Height?" When he didn't answer, she pushed him to the measuring tape on the wall. Or more accurately, he allowed her to guide him to the wall.

"Seven-three." She scribbled another value onto the clipboard.

"Blood type?"

He stood there, contemplating under his mask. Now that he thought about it, he didn't actually know.

She prompted him again, and he grunted and shrugged. She dug into another drawer, pulling out a needle with some tubing and a vial.

"I'm going to need a blood sample from you, anyway, so this works out nicely. Stick your right arm out, please." Inwardly tired of the charade, he did so. The doctor began lightly smacking the crook of his elbow, and he shot her a look.

"I'm trying to draw the blood to your arm." She didn't even look at him as she explained.

"I don't think I have a rubber band that will fit your arm, but…." She once again cast around the room, finally moving towards her desk.

"Open and close your hand." Sighing, he did so as she returned with a stethoscope. She tied it around his upper arm, resuming striking his joint. After a while, she shook her head and untied the scope. Roadhog relaxed his arm, but Mercy shook her head.

"Keep your arm extended," she instructed as she now tied the stethoscope by his wrist. "Face your palm down." Now she was tapping the back of his hand. If this is what doctors did for a living, Roadhog was going to lose a lot of respect for them. Well, as much respect as he already had, anyway.

Apparently now she found what she was looking for, as she took a wipe and wiped his hand down. Then she took the syringe in hand. "This is going to sting a little." Roadhog rolled his eyes under his mask.

She stuck the needle into one of the veins in his hand, and the two watched the blood fill the vial. Satisfied at its filling, she pulled the needle out and placed a bandage over the pinprick. Roadhog stared idly at how dumb the small bandage looked on his huge hand.

"That should do it!" She put the various fixings and files away and clapped her hands. "You know… I have to thank you. I really did not expect for you to be so cooperative. You've made my life a lot easier, Roadhog."

She made her way for the door and flicked the light switch. Roadhog followed her out the room. "Well, I think it's about time both of us got some rest, hmm?" Roadhog stood still as he watched her retreating form.

He found himself staring into empty space for a long while after she left, before stalking back to his own room.


	6. First Hunger

_I would like to thank Yay899, VMLM, and Hammeh for their prereading for this chapter._

* * *

Roadhog opened the lounge fridge for the third time today.

For the third time, it was empty.

Growling, he lazily slammed the refrigerator shut, and waddled over to the lounge pantry. Inside was a jar of peanut butter, "Winston – Do Not Eat" written in marker on the label. He grumbled to himself. After a contemplative moment, he closed the pantry and walked away.

After a not-so-contemplative moment, he reopened the pantry and took the jar of peanut butter.

He looked at the jar in his hand, spun it around a few times. He put his hand on the lid.

"Ahem."

Roadhog looked up to see Winston in the doorway, disapproving look on his face.

After deciding it would be unwise to try to fight his way out of the base on an empty stomach, he groaned and placed the jar on the counter not-so-gently.

Winston sighed. "I know, we're not exactly swimming in supplies right now. McCree and Lena should be landing with a fresh batch of supplies any min-"

 _"Winston! Doc! It's an emergency!"_

The monkey's hand flew to his communicator. "Calm down, Lena. What's the problem?"

 _"When we got there the place was half empty and_ he _was there again and-"_

"Lena, calm down. Are either of you hurt?"

 _"Yes! Jesse's beat up bad. I flew back as fast as I could, but I wasn't able to bring anything back."_

Roadhog watched Winton tense up, and release it with a breath. "Alright. Mercy'll be at the landing bay. I'll meet you there." With that, the monkey ran from the room.

After a long moment, Roadhog did not take the jar of peanut butter, and followed.

* * *

Roadhog had to admit, the cowboy looked pretty bad.

He could make out seven distinct bullet holes across his chest, dried blood staining his poncho and armor. His prosthetic arm was now more a prosthetic stump, frayed wired and deformed metal protruding from the end. His left side was now more left flesh pulp, fresh blood still soaking through hastily wrapped bandages. The cowboy hissed in pain as Tracer pushed him along on the gurney down the ramp.

"Hold on, Jesse. Mercy will be here soon."

As if on cue, the good doctor flew past Roadhog, wings flared, beam already touching the cowboy. She landed gently next to McCree, and sighed.

The cowboy now in the doctor's hands, Tracer joined Winston and Roadhog on the side.

"Sorry, Winston. We weren't able to get anything. _He_ was there again."

Roadhog's stomach gurgled in disapproval, and she winced and gave him a sheepish smile.

Winston kept his eyes on McCree, scowl on his face. "We're going to have to do something about that Soldier: 76. We can't go on like this."

Tracer put her hands on her hips and pouted. "It's like he knows our every move. How are we supposed to fight him when he knows so much about us and we know nothing about him?"

Roadhog grunted in agreement. A moment of silence passed between the three.

Roadhog then wondered why the two of them were looking at him.

* * *

"We're sending you two to a former Overwatch facility in Hong Kong. Former Overwatch bases have been raided by a vigilante by the name of Soldier: 76."

The monkey gestured to a set of screens, each playing security footage. All of them featured a man with a red and black visor, clad in blue and white jacket, with a red seventy-six emblazoned on the back. The assembled watched him break into facility after facility, raid through long-forgotten files, and swipe unsecured supplies.

"If we're going to rebuild Overwatch, we can't let him keep taking valuable resources from us. There are also important secrets in many of those files. The fewer of those out in the black market, the better. Also, apprehending him will help put Overwatch in a positive light and increase public support.

"These are the places he's already been to." A map now appeared, several red markers across the world. "Our sources suggest the next facility he is going to hit is in Hong Kong. It's a former storehouse for a variety of experimental tech and equipment. We're sending you in to intercept him and bring him in. We've got a limited number of planes to use, so we'll be dropping you off and picking you up later. You'll be deployed for a week.

"Your ship departs at ten hundred hours. That's in two hours, so get prepared and report to the hangar. You're dismissed."

With that, Roadhog and Junkrat saluted Winston – sort of – and exited the command room.

"Aren't you excited Roadie? Our first mission as members of Overwatch! I think we might make it legit after all."

Roadhog shrugged and gave a half-hearted nod, but his pace slowed at the sound of a collection of footsteps behind them. He turned his head around to see several other agents pile into the command room. The doctor, the cowboy, the giant, the dwarf.

"Eh? Roadhog?"

"Go on ahead. I'll be with you."

* * *

Roadhog waddled up the dropship's ramp, Junkrat already there, having loaded himself and the plane with explosives. It was a small wonder there was enough room for the two of them.

Junkrat gave him a wave as he boarded. "So what was that about earlier, mate?"

Roadhog waved him off. "Don't worry about it. Focus on the mission." No point in bring it up now.

Junkrat shrugged and went back to tending to his payload. The two settled into the dropship. Not as big as the one they got picked up in, but enough to comfortably fit both of them. The autopilot kicked in, and the two were off.

* * *

"So… we just wait here until he shows up?"

The old storehouse was something else. Big, certainly. Plenty of crates and pallets still around. Scaffolding and shelves were lined up in rows across the space. Labels faded, most likely scrubbed decades ago.

Roadhog was mildly surprised the place hadn't already been cleaned out. This sort of place was a looter paradise. It wasn't exactly obvious, but it wasn't nearly hidden well enough to be out of a keen looter's eye.

"Hey, Roadhog, check out what I found!"

Well, now there was a looter running around. It would be a wonder if this place had corner left unturned by the end of the week.

"Don't get distracted," he said. "Set up a perimeter of traps. Then we can clean this place out."

Make that two looters.

"Hey, where are you going?"

Roadhog didn't even pause. "To get something to _eat_."

"Could you have been _more_ obvious with your traps?" Roadhog groaned.

"You said you wanted a perimeter of traps, and I went and put _two_ damn perimeters!" Junkrat pointed about, at Roadhog, at himself, at the traps. "Who's the boss here, anyway?"

"You idiot. If he so much as looks _anywhere_ and sees the traps, he's going to know the jig is up and is going to bail!"

Junkrat shook his head. "Nah, I could read that guy like a book. You see the look in his eyes? That's the kind of look a guy gets when he wants something so bad, he'll do anything." He flashed another of his signature grins. "He'll come. You'll see."

Roadhog grumbled, but said nothing.

"Oi, you better have gotten enough for both of us. I'm starving!"

* * *

He showed up on day three. The two had been rummaging through one of the bins when they heard a trap go off. Roadhog nodded to Junkrat, and the two split into the maze that was the storage racks.

Roadhog pressed against a crate and listened. The sounds of traps being shot out, disarmed, and stepped around echoed through the building. He unclipped his hook and gripped it. Peeking out, he spied Junkrat on the far side, having scaled one of the scaffolding sets and was now on top of one of the shelves. Junkrat nodded his head over another pile of boxes. Roadhog nodded back.

This was their masterpiece.

The first trap went off to his left.

Roadhog saw the solider roll away expertly, behind another piece of cover. Traps detonated around him, pinning him down. Roadhog thundered forward, barreling around the corner and whipping his scrap gun to aim.

He got the butt of a rifle to the face as a greeting, and a roundhouse kick as a "how do you do". While his vision cleared, he vaguely made out the soldier vaulting over the cover and sprinting to another. All the while, traps detonated around him, and Junkrat carpeted the place with grenades. The building shook with an ongoing groan. Pillars protested the explosive abuse; the ground shuddered underneath.

Roadhog cast about, and spotted the soldier climbing a shelf, springing off platforms, swinging from poles, all the while dodging the scrap and bombs thrown his way. He paused only to apply his own suppressing fire or rocket barrage.

A hook flew, cutting the soldier's jacket at the hip. The nails caught into the scaffolding, and Roadhog tugged on the chain to no avail. He got a face full of pulse rounds and three rockets to the chest for his trouble. Growling, he tore at the whole damn thing with a roar, pulling the shelf down, threatening to sandwich the soldier between a pile of steel and wood.

The soldier fired his rockets at one end of a pipe on the ceiling, and dinked another joint with a round. He sped to the far side of the shelf, even as debris fell and the shelves tipped as dominoes. As the pipe swung down, the soldier swung off the whole mess, gripping the pipe. He turned back, firing wildly, accelerating him away. With one final rocket blast, he leapt off the pipe.

And right towards Junkrat. With a war cry, the solder slammed his rifle into Jamison, sending him tumbling.

For a split second, Roadhog's heart stopped.

The next split second, Roadhog narrowly avoided the collapsing wreck falling on him.

Coughing through the dust, he took a deep breath of his gas, and pulled himself a top the wreckage. Junkrat was giving ground, and giving it away fast. He saw the bombardier narrowly duck one swing, sidestep a pulse of bullets, and block another slam with his own grenade launcher. At break-neck speeds, Roadhog raced towards the fight, desperately trying to provide his partner with some pitiful covering fire from his scrap gun.

He saw Junkrat fall, his body bending back to avoid another swing, threatening to hit the floor of the top shelf.

He saw a hand sleight its way into a back pocket and throw out a mine.

He saw a flash of light.

Two groans cried out into the now-wrecked storehouse. One came from a soldier, thrown off the whole lot and heading for a date with the ground. The other came from Junkrat, rolling away from the blast and sliding across the shelf, a huge grin plastered on his face.

Their eyes locked. Roadhog grinned back.

The moment was broken by another grunt of effort. The soldier righted himself and rolled into his fall. Wasting no time, he emerged in a crouch and fired at Roadhog, forcing him to cover.

Their dance began anew, bombs and scrap converging on one spot, pulse rounds spraying back out. The three circled around, trying to gain position and flanks. The only one to suffer for it all was the building, each stray shot wounding it more and more.

For a precious moment, the pulse rounds dove into cover, and were silent in the face of explosions and shards of metal. Then they spoke.

"I've got you in my sights."

The soldier emerged from his hiding spot, turned to face Junkrat, and opened fire. Pulse round and pulse round tore into Junkrat's body, and Jamison cried out in anguish.

In doing so, the soldier had completely turned his back on Roadhog.

Big mistake.

With another roar, Roadhog, hurled his hook at the soldier, the chain wrapping around him, pinning his arms to the side. He yanked the chain back. The soldier swung his feet up.

Roadhog's next sight was that of two boots planted firmly in his face. He heard the chain run slack and fall off, the rifle firing once more, now at Roadhog.

He threw the hook once more. It flew past the soldier, narrowly missing him.

The soldier smiled. Roadhog's smile was bigger.

His target had never been the soldier.

He watched Junkrat slide off the platform, turn midair, and unhitch the tire from his back. The hook dug into the tire, the nails piercing the rubber.

Roadhog pulled the tire back.

Junkrat screamed. "Fire in the hole!"

A bang resonated throughout the storehouse, most notably through the soldier's skull. He was flung from the blast, headlong into a wall. He slid down, collapsed in a heap, and rolled over, slumped against the wall. Groans and gurgles came from him as Roadhog made his way over.

The soldier raised his rifle, arms weak but still fighting. Roadhog yanked the rifle away with one hand and cast it aside.

Mask locked eyes with mask. Two sets of ragged breathing filled the air between them.

Roadhog spoke.

"You can come quietly…"

He leveled his scrap gun at the soldier and readjusted his grip on his hook.

"…Or you can come in a body bag."


	7. Interlude: Council

_I would like to thank Yay899 and VMLM for their prereading for this chapter._

* * *

Mercy gazed across the assembled agents at the table in the command center. All of them were comrades of past years. Across from her, Winston and Torbjorn. To her left was McCree; her right, Reinhardt. Tracer peeked out from in between the two giant figures of Winston and Reinhardt.

"Ahh, it is good to have the old team back together," Reinhardt boomed, throwing his arms around Angela and Lena and pulling them into a hug. Torbjorn rolled his eyes at the theatrics, but nodded.

Despite still missing a replacement for his prosthetic, McCree had insisted on joining, and he echoed Reinhardt's sentiment with a smile. "Now if only the coffee was as good as it used to be. I didn't come back so I could keep drinking boiled dirt."

Winston smiled back. It was nice to see everyone was in good spirits, at least for now. "It's good to see you're alright, Jesse."

"Ah, that's nothing. You should be thanking Doc over here." Jesse put his hand on Mercy's shoulder. "Wouldn't be up here if not for her."

Angela gave the faintest blush, but shook her head. "I'd feel a lot better if I didn't have to do my job every time you came back."

That ended the good vibes. Jesse's face turned serious, a forceful exhale escaping him. "Yup. That Soldier: 76 fellow sure has my number. Hate to admit it."

Tracer nodded. "I couldn't shake him. I blinked this way, that way, he always had a lock on me. The only reason I didn't come home as beat up as Jesse is 'cause of my recall."

Winston nodded gravely. "That's the third time this has happened. I can only hope that Roadhog and Junkrat can stop him." He chuckled. "Pinning our hopes on two of the most feared international criminals. Not something I expected to say."

Torbjorn piped up. "And not something I want to hear any more. Really, what were you thinking, hiring a pair of mercenaries like that? Overwatch's name is already tarnished. Don't need a pair of ruffians like them muddying it up more."

Reinhardt nodded. "I must admit, I was surprised when they came down the ramp with you two." He shrugged. "Still, they have been… behaving. Mostly."

Torbjorn snorted. "That armor is messing with your head. That wiry man wrecked our defensive turret line, if you forgot. It took me weeks to set that up. I'm still not done fixing the whole lot."

Angela remained silent, quietly contemplating the men in question. She'd heard the rumors, seen the news stories. She had to remind herself she hadn't seen the full extent of their character. But the men she'd seen, interacted with simply didn't match up. She would reserve judgement for now.

She inclined her head at Winston. "Is that all you called us here for?"

Winston sighed another heavy sigh. She'd heard too many of those in the past days.

"Unfortunately, no. I recently received a missive from the United Nations."

That got everyone sitting straight.

"I'll spare you the details, but the message is clear: They want us to stop operations, effective immediately."

For a moment, the obvious question hung in the air, waiting for someone daring enough to ask it. The cowboy dared. "Or what?"

"According to the notice, 'the arrest of all participating and complicit actors.'" Winston took one bracing breath. "'Minimum of fifty years imprisonment for former Overwatch agents, up to life without bail.' If we comply, we'll be let off with an unpleasant fine and stern warning."

Silence reigned in the command room.

After a long moment, Tracer leaned back, a thoughtful look on her face. "Well, they can't be in _that_ big of a hurry to stop us. They would have done something by now, wouldn't they?"

Torbjorn agreed. "Wouldn't even need to bother with the warning."

"Despite its… tarnished past, Overwatch is still a point of hope for many people," Angela added. "Moving so aggressively would not be received well."

"Then our focus should be on totally regaining the goodwill of the people," Torbjorn stated, pounding his fist on the desk. "With it, the UN will have immense pressure to repeal the Petras Act."

"And we'll be back in business!" Tracer cheered.

Reinhardt shook his head. "We do not need public approval to do good. Overwatch has always been about protecting the people. Public support or not." He pressed his hands onto the table. "Legal or not."

"That's right," McCree leaned into his chair. "It ain't about what's 'legal' or not. It's about doing what's right."

Mercy frowned. "I don't know what crazy lives you've been living under the law, but I will not stand for an Overwatch that deals in such underground actions. I have already seen the mistakes it can lead to." _I have already had my heart broken by it before._

McCree narrowed his eyes at the doctor. "Don't talk like you knew what happened in Blackwatch, doc."

"I have said nothing about-"

McCree leaned forward, turning on his chair, directly at Angela. "We all knew you were talking about Blackwatch. I love you, doc, but you don't know anything about what happened." His visage softened, but his voice did not. "Besides, there's a difference between bad and illegal. I've spent enough of my life doing both to know the difference."

For another moment, no one spoke.

Winston let out a humorless chuckle, drawing the room's attention. "He was right. He really was right."

Tracer cocked her head. "Who?"

"Roadhog. We're all outlaws now, like it or not." He sighed, his face torn and weary.

"Winston." Angela stood up. The room listened. "If you will allow this organization to deal in such matters… I will have no choice but to leave."

"Angela!" Reinhardt rose out of his chair so fast it fell over and away. "What sort of ultimatum is this?"

"You can't do this, doc!" Tracer's eyes pleaded to her. "We need you now, more than ever!"

Angela did not waver. "I did not want to come back, you know. I have too many bad memories, too many nightmares from the mistakes Overwatch made." _From the mistakes I made._ "I allowed myself to be convinced under the premise… no, the _promise_ that this organization would be a pure and clean one. If you cannot uphold that promise," she said, countenance mournful but firm, "I will not be a part of this Overwatch."

An uneasy silence hung in the air. Mercy looked at each of her fellow agents in turn, each one also reading the others in the room.

At least Winston had some amount of confidence back on his expression. "Very well. Overwatch will pursue legality to the best it can, and will not deal nor dabble in any underground activities. Are we agreed?"

Everyone did. Some more than others, Angela noted, but everyone agreed. She could live with that for now.

Winston took the opportunity to move on. "The other pressing issue is the matter of funding. As you know, between our lack of official support and these consistent interruptions of our supply runs, we've been running low on… well, everything."

McCree raised his hand, palm out. "If you're going to give us another 'tighten our belts' speech, Winston, you can stop there. Don't mean no disrespect, but if I tighten my belt anymore – if any of us tighten our belts anymore – we're going to cut ourselves in two."

"Well, unless any of you have any bright ideas on how to solve our problem…."

Suddenly, Torbjorn perked up. "It seems to me we already have a solution for our money troubles. If I remember correctly, our two new recruits have bounties on their heads. Twenty-five million. Each. Personally, I don't understand why we haven't turned them in already. They're dangerous."

Another contemplative silence. Despite Mercy's original decision to reserve judgement on the pair, Torbjorn's proposal pushed the question to the forefront of her mind. Could she so readily send them away – to a certain fate of imprisonment or death?

Of course she could. There was no denying the reality – the calamity – of their crimes. This is what they deserved. They had an opportunity to bring two dangerous criminals to justice, keep Overwatch afloat, and gain public support. There was no question.

 _"Oh, Roadhog. What are you doing up at this hour? You should be sleeping."_

 _Indignantly, he inclined his head at her and pointed._

 _"Oh, not you too. I get that enough from the others." She sighed._

She blinked. Where had that come from?

 _"You know… I have to thank you. I really did not expect for you to be so cooperative. You've made my life a lot easier, Roadhog."_

She sighed inwardly. She knew _exactly_ where it came from. It was her compassion to the core, for all sorts of people. Roadhog was more than only an international criminal. She'd met the man behind the beast, no matter how masked it was.

It took her a while to realize the conversation had carried on without her. She managed a few blinks before Winston closed.

"Well, it's _a_ suggestion to think about. Dismissed."

Mercy thought she heard heavy footfalls as she rose from her chair, but by the time she reached the door, she only saw an empty hallway.


	8. Interlude: Past Lives, Future Deaths

_I would like to thank Yay899 and Hammeh for their prereading for this chapter._

* * *

Angela stood in the hanger bay as the ship docked. With her was most of the unofficial council heading the new Overwatch. Notably absent were Torbjorn and Tracer, attending to other duties around the base. It would still be a few days before Roadhog and Junkrat returned; no, they were welcoming another new recruit today.

Angela had to admit, she hardly recognized Fareeha. There she was, in a blue blouse covered with a light green jacket, wearing jeans and duffel bag in hand. Gone was the little girl always chasing her mom, or the rebellious teenager always fighting her. No, there descending the ramp was a young woman, confident and ready to take on the world.

Not that everyone could see it just yet. Reinhardt, she could see, could barely contain himself from running up to her. As soon as she was in arm's reach, he picked her up with both hands by the waist, hoisting her up as one would a child. For a split second, Angela saw the sheer shock on Fareeha's face as she was lifted into the air, before settling on a mixture on confusion and embarrassment.

"Oh, Fareeha, you've grown so much! I hardly recognize you from when you left to enlist."

Despite herself, Mercy stifled a chuckle. "Perhaps, then, you should put her down like the adult she is?"

The excitement drained from the giant's face, now mirroring Fareeha's embarrassment as he gently set her down. "Ah, yes… ahem. It is good to see you again, Fareeha."

McCree had a chuckle of his own and tipped his hat. "Nice to see you again, little lady."

Visibly breaking the stupor after what Mercy had to assume was a traumatizing event, Fareeha recomposed herself and responded with a polite nod. She walked past everyone and saluted to Winston.

"Fareeha Amari reporting for duty, sir."

Winston nodded, saluting her back and handing her a clipboard. "Just a few things we need you to fill out. Your room has a nametag on the door. Glad to have you on board."

Fareeha accepted the clipboard, and made her way to the barracks. For a long while, Angela watched her retreating form.

 _"Come on, Angela! Catch me!" The little girl sprinted away from Angela, beckoning her to give chase. Angela humored her for a while, before catching up to her and scooping her up, to her giggling protest._

 _As the two settled down, sitting on the ground, little Fareeha looked up to Angela. "Someday, I'm going to fight alongside Jack and Reinhardt and everyone!"_

Angela blinked a few times, Fareeha almost out of sight, the rest of the team, too, scattering.

Yes, that little girl was certainly gone.

* * *

Mercy was overseeing the command center with Winston when the call came. Winston visibly straightened himself out, took a breath, and answered.

"Home Base Alpha. Report."

 _"Hey, Winston ol' buddy! We got 'im!"_

And with that, all sense of decorum and procedure were lost. "Junkrat? Is that you? You've got who?"

 _"Yeah, we got that seventy-six bloke you were complaining about. Say 'g'day', mate!"_

After a brief period of silence, there was a thump and grunt of pain.

 _"Eh, good enough. Anyway, we got 'im, and we're coming in."_

Mercy shared a look with Winston, before turning back to the communicator. "Ah, yes, understood. See you soon." Ending the call, Winston collapsed into his chair.

Angela attempted to be sympathetic. "Well, it appears our hopes were well-placed. They managed to stop him."

"Yes, but capture him? I expected… I don't know, for them to deal with him in some way, not to capture him." Winston shook his head. "Well, we can worry about that later."

He now spoke into the intercom system. "Prepare cell block three. We have a guest incoming."

Mercy was beginning to wonder if Overwatch should invest in some dramatic lighting for the hangar. They were doing an awful lot of waiting expectantly in it lately.

Pushing the distraction aside, she eyed over the trio coming down the ramp. True to their word, there were Roadhog and Junkrat, towing along a clearly disgruntled Soldier: 76, whom they had wrapped in (among other things) Roadhog's chain.

What caught her attention, though, were the wounds on the three. All three had dried blood on them, from small splotches to huge patches. Junkrat had a cluster of small, rounded scars on his chest, still scabbed over. Roadhog seemed to be missing a portion or two of his large belly, with clear bullet entry wounds all over his stomach. Soldier: 76, while less obviously wounded, had a tattered jacket and deformed vest.

She wasn't sure if she was more concerned that Roadhog and Junkrat clearly hadn't had proper medical attention since the encounter or relieved that they had returned home despite such wounds.

Winston stepped forward to meet the trio, shaking Mercy from her thoughts. Roadhog lazily swung the chain forward, rudely slinging the soldier in front of Winston. The soldier said nothing. Winston looked into the soldier's visor for a few moments, then motioned for Roadhog and Junkrat to follow him.

Mercy could not let that stand. "Surely you cannot expect me to let these two go any longer without proper medical treatment?"  
Winston scratched his head. "I understand where you're coming from, but we need to get him delivered to his cell as soon as possible.

The good doctor sighed. "Very well. You don't need Junkrat right now, do you?"

Winston shrugged. "Probably not."

That was good enough for her. "Come along, Junkrat. And you," she said, pointing at Roadhog, "I expect you in my office as soon as this business is done."

Roadhog grunted, and followed Winston into the base, as she and Junkrat made for the medical bay.

* * *

Junkrat had long been finished by the time Roadhog arrived. All the advance notice she got was the click of the doorknob and the squeak of the hinges before Roadhog waddled into her office.

"Ah, Roadhog, finally. Please, take a seat."

Roadhog looked at her.

"…Oh. Well, it's fine. Let me take a look at that wound." She knelt down in front of him and inspected the wound. It was worse than she feared. Just like Junkrat, the lack of proper attention to treatment had allowed the wound to get infected. At least Junkrat only had a few bullet holes. All it took was one bad infection to spiral out of control, she knew, but it was relatively simple to treat in the age of modern medicine. This was considerably worse, however. The crater in Roadhog's belly was festering, with specks of pus and rotting flesh. Most likely a concussive explosive wound. She grimaced. She wasn't going to be able to send him away with some disinfectant and bandages.

"Alright, then. We're going to need to move to the operating room. This way, please."

Roadhog didn't budge as she moved to exit the room. She sighed.

"Roadhog, please. This is for your own health. I cannot allow your injury to worsen any further. The wound already looks infected; please, we must hurry."

Nothing. The masked man stared at her, daring her to take drastic action.

"Roadhog. You cannot really think letting your wound develop like this…" She gestured at the bits and pieces of rot and decay. "…is all that wise."

Still nothing. Very well. If the man wanted drastic measures, she would use them. She turned back to her desk, rummaging through a drawer. From it, she pulled out a small dart gun. It wasn't her usual weapon of choice, but she had used to bring in… uncooperative patients in the past. (By that, she meant Reinhardt and Jack.)

Roadhog, to his credit, didn't flinch when she brought it out. Perhaps he was unaware of its use.

"Don't blame me for this. You brought this upon yourself." She hit him straight in the neck.

Roadhog rumbled at her, unhitched his hook and thundered towards her. He managed three steps before falling over, onto his tummy. He mumbled something – most likely profane – before falling asleep.

Sighing, she reached for her communicator. "Reinhardt, could you do me a favor?"

* * *

With Roadhog now on an operating table, and under proper anesthesia, Mercy donned her coat and gloves and set to work.

As much as the wonders of modern medicine delighted Angela, particularly biotics, she had to admit a certain charm in more traditional methods. An intern passed her a surgical laserknife. One false move could seriously worsen Roadhog's condition, but Angela had seen worse before. Her work transcended mere surgery the way biotics transcended mere mending.

She delicately trimmed away the necrotic tissue, discarding it as she went. An angling here, a twist there. If Angela was stressed, she couldn't tell. This was her meditation. She defly avoided burning Roadhog's intestines, gently separating the rot from it. She weaved around his bones, partly exposed by the blast. She picked out pulse rounds with ease.

Something caught her attention. She narrowed her eyes. Was that… a tumor? Roadhog had mentioned nothing of the sort during his preliminary examination. Her teeth grit against each other. As tempted as she was to go ahead with the removal, she had no idea of the cause or contributing factors. Roadhog certainly didn't seem to be afflicted with cancer. Nevertheless, leaving it in could not be the wiser option, and quite frankly, getting Roadhog back onto the table to remove it at a later date would probably be impossible. Adjusting the power on her knife, she set out to remove the growth.

Finally, an hour later, she'd finished cleaning up. Letting out a sigh of relief, she pulled over a biotic stream emitter. Holding it over Roadhog's gut, she pointed it at him and turned it on.

Rather than watch the flesh regrow, she saw blood pool in the wound. A part of her started to panic, but she pushed it aside. If she starting panicking here, the staff would surely fall apart.

"Get the nanoscope," she ordered, turning off the stream. Stepping around to the other side, she looked into the wound.

She was not encouraged by what she saw.

Contrary to popular belief, biotics did not only accelerate cell growth. Cells could only divide so many times before their DNA deteriorated too much. Merely accelerating healing could end up drastically shorting a patient's life. Instead, biotic fluid provided the necessary materials for fresh cell construction, with nanomachines ensuring the body did not reject the new cells.

Here, though, something was not letting the new cells take root. The nanites were growing biomass, but without a latch, it was merely collecting in the wound. She squinted, wracking her brain to identify the chemicals at hand.

There was some form of pain killer in the mix. Synthetic adrenaline. Hormones that triggered growth and self-restoraton. Was this what was in that canister of his?

Well, she could not simply leave him like this. If she wanted to patch him up completely, she was going to have to a completely detoxification of him first. She grimaced. As she directed the rest of the staff around to prepare, she made a mental note to get a sample of his so-called Piggy Gas.

She sighed. Today was not going to be a good day.


	9. Breathe

_I would like to thank Yay899 and VMLM for their prereading for this chapter._

* * *

Roadhog was not one for mission debriefings. His arrival had already been delayed due to an… unscheduled surgery. By the time he had arrived at the command center, Junkrat had finished his summary of the story, just in time for Roadhog to awkwardly burst through the door.

He endured the stares for a few moments before looking at Junkrat. Junkrat looked back at him. Roadhog shrugged. Junkrat tilted his head. Roadhog scratched his cheek through his mask. Junkrat scratched behind his ear. Roadhog folded his arms. Junkrat shrugged.

Satisfied with their exchange, Roadhog waddled his way up to the table and pulled out a wad of cash. Roadhog didn't quite remember how much it was, but it was around thirty thousand dollars. He chucked it onto the table, everyone looking first at the money, then at him, all in silence.

Winston was the first to speak. "What's this?"

Roadhog crossed his arms. "Money."

Winston rolled his eyes. "I get that, what for?"

"You're broke, aren't you?"

Silence. Seeing the conversation as over, Roadhog turned to walk away, and Junkrat fell in line with him.

"Where'd you get it?"

Roadhog stopped. Junkrat stopped. Roadhog motioned for him to go on without him.

"I said, where did you get the money?"

Only the sound of Roadhog's thing came back to the monkey. Finally, he spoke.

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to."

Roadhog managed about two more steps before he felt a massive hand grip his shoulder and spin him around. His mask was now inches away from the gorilla's face.

Roadhog inhaled. Roadhog exhaled. The monkey, to his credit, did not flinch.

"I do want to know the answers."

Roadhog searched Winston's eyes. For the first time since he met him, they had fire behind them. His lips peeled away at his left side to reveal his canines. His face contorted to a scowling visage.

"Junkrat and I did a few jobs before we got picked up." Roadhog turned again to leave, and Winston again stopped him.

"What kind of jobs?"

Roadhog inhaled. Roadhog exhaled. "Turned in a few bounties. More than we expected, actually."

"Why was that?"

"Well, when a couple of blokes with multi-million bounties show up at the collection office, some of the people there see an… opportunity." With that, Roadhog shoved the monkey off him, and thundered out of the room.

* * *

Roadhog burst through the door to Mercy's office. The door swung wide, slammed onto the wall and bounced right into his outstretched hand.

The doctor tilted her head in curiosity from behind her desk, clothed in her doctor's coat. "Roadhog? What are you doing here?"

Slowly, the one-man apocalypse thundered his way to the opposite side of her desk. He leaned over it, hands pressing into it so hard it began to creak, his mask looming over the seated doctor now in his shadow.

Roadhog inhaled. Roadhog exhaled.

"Roadhog, if this is about yesterday, I'm-"

Two hands clamped around the doctor's neck, and for a brief instant, all composure fled her face.

She choked and gagged as the futilely tried to pry off Roadhog's grip. Her legs flailed about, kicking and stamping into Roadhog's belly, but he paid it no mind. He lifted her up and slammed her against the wall, still holding her by the neck.

"Ack- Roadhog, I'm-"

Roadhog pressed his thumbs deeper into her neck. He felt her windpipe desperately quiver as her breathing grew shallower, her expression more… more…

More somber?

"I'm- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." She gasped for air, but kept talking even as her breaths grew ragged. "I've done it with other patients bef-before, and I didn't think how – how you would take it. I'm so sor-sorry."

Roadhog snarled. He released his left hand from her throat and squeezed tighter with her right. "Think you're funny, doc? I think I'll put you to sleep too and cut you up." He unclipped his hook and pressed the point just barely into her tummy. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

His grip tighted even more. Now terror fully consumed the doctor's face. Each breath came faster than the last, each one taking in less and less air. He traced across her body with his hook, drawing no blood but plenty of satisfaction.

Her movements slowed. Her arms fell limp by her side. Her legs came to rest, dangling. Her mouth hung open dumbly, her eyes beginning to roll back.

He dropped her. She slid own the wall, hitting the floor with a thud. A gasp escaped her, then two, then more, as life rushed back into her. For a moment, the two locked eyes.

"Don't try that again," he thundered.

Then Roadhog turned away, and stalked off.

* * *

Roadhog was not expecting a punch to the face when he rounded the corner.

Thankfully, he recovered in time to catch the roundhouse kick before it struck the side of his head. Now holding his assailant in a compromised position, Roadhog was able to get a good look at who would think of actually hitting him.

She was in a white tank top and black jogging pants, both stained with sweat. She stunk, too. Her right had this design around it – obviously Egyptian in origin. After a few moments of recollection, Roadhog recognized her as the new recruit. He'd seen her face on the bulletin board in the cafeteria.

Apparently she didn't recognize him, though. Or maybe she did. "What are you doing here, you murderer?"

Roadhog mulled her words over. Murderer could have been a generic insult. While Roadhog had a surprisingly low number of murder charges on his record – Roadhog was a thief, not a serial killer – it wasn't exactly an untrue title to give him. Then again, perhaps he had killed someone close to her, and she had identified him. He was better known for his heists than his killing, although the two went hand-in-hand.

That was as far as he got before being interrupted by another punch to the face. He growled. Apparently in his musings his grip on her foot had loosened, and she had broken free.

"Now, now, what's all this about?" Great, the dwarf was here too.

"What are you talking about? There's an international criminal here and nothing is being done!"

"Oh, Roadhog? He's an agent here." Torbjorn looked away and muttered, "Although I don't know why."

Roadhog would pretend he didn't hear that.

With that, Torbjorn walked away, muttering some more. The remaining two looked into each other's eyes. The Egyptian woman forked her fingers to her eyes, then his, before stiffly walking past him.

Roadhog inhaled. Roadhog exhaled.

* * *

Roadhog almost slammed the door to his room shut. Only almost, though.

Roadhog leaned on his desk, breathing unusually heavily, even for him. Bending over, he grabbed a canister of his special gas and took a couple huffs. Disconnecting the canister from his mask, he placed it onto the desk and took a few more steadying breaths. Feeling better, he moved to change into his sleepwear.

Idly, he realized some of the money he left on his desk was missing. Where had it gone? He hadn't shared his key with anyone, and he always locked his door behind him. He scowled. He'd made quite a bit of money during his and Junkrat's trip to Hong Kong, and he was looking forward to having more to put in his stash after the pair made their escape. It was a shame they'd had to pay a third of their fruits to Overwatch to keep it afloat, but he'd still walked away with…

Roadhog paused. Swiftly, he gathered up the money and counted again. Sure enough, it was a third of all the money the pair of criminals had made. He swore. Had he really given up a whole fifteen grand? (The other fifteen, of course, was Junkrat's.) All in the name of their "job security," which almost certainly tipped the other agents off that Roadhog had been eavesdropping.

Hang on. Why did they need job security? They were planning on breaking out, anyway. The two had almost finalized their escape route. Athena would be a problem, but nothing some old fashioned scavenger ingenuity couldn't handle. They could have easily kept their heads down and made off with a few days' worth of stipend and some lifted valuables to boot.

Why the hell had he done that?

Groaning, Roadhog flopped onto his bed. Sleep did not claim him.


	10. Interlude: Past Mistakes

_I would like to thank Yay899 and VMLM for their prereading for this chapter._

* * *

Angela was still shaking minutes after Roadhog left her office. Her eyes still watered, her mouth hung open dumbly in frozen shock. Slowly, still quivering, legs still quaking, she lifted herself off the floor. She nearly collapsed again, falling against her desk to brace herself. She coughed once or twice.

Her vision swam. She somehow managed to guide herself into her chair, where she collapsed, lying lazily as she recovered.

Slowly, her mind steadied, and now it could replay the events that transpired in some clarity. What had compelled Roadhog to do that? She knew he was a violent killer. In fact, she had been quite surprised at little trouble he had caused. Perhaps he had been biding his time, but he had been nothing but cooperative, if unwillingly. Furthermore, he could not have reliably predicted she would make some faux pau to justify such an act, let alone such a disastrous one.

No, it was more likely that he had become unhinged by something. But that sort of drastic shift in temperament and personality was usually only the consequence of extreme chemical imbalances.

Extreme chemical imbalances.

That could be induced, for example, by full-body detoxification.

Angela sunk into her chair, and buried her face in her hands. How could she have made such a rookie mistake? Of course Roadhog was going to be unstable after that kind of operation. It didn't excuse the near-death experience, but she could not deny her hand in her own suffering.

She groaned. She had only been trying to help, and lost sight of the bigger picture.

Visions of a specter in black cloak wormed their way into her mind.

She had only been trying to help.

 _"You did this to me…."_

She had only been trying to help.

"…ctor Zeiger? I have the- Angela!"

She hadn't even heard Fareeha come into the room. By the time she looked up, Fareeha was right by her side.

"Who did this to you?" Fingers gently traced the bruises along her neck. "Wait, I passed Roadhog on the way here. Don't tell me he did it."

Angela nodded weakly.

"That brute. How dare he…." Fareeha was already up, knuckles in palm, when Angela reached for her.

"Wait…. Don't…." Angela managed to sit up straight in her chair before rising. "Not yet. I'll deal with it."

"But Angela, you can't let him get away with this!"

 _It's my fault_ , is on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't say it. "I'll handle it. Don't worry about me."

Fareeha scowled, but grunted in affirmation. Angela stumbled slightly, and Fareeha was once again right by her, now holding her, supporting her.

"Are you going to be alright?"

"Yes, I'll be fine." Even as the words left Angela's lips, she found herself sinking gently into Fareeha's arms, her head now resting in Fareeha's bosom.

She closed her eyes, and rest took her.

* * *

"Fareeha told you, didn't she?" Poor Winston's face gave it away.

He sighed. "I still can't believe you were planning on hiding something this serious."

"'Hiding' is a strong word. 'Waiting for a better time' sounds so much better."

"This sort of behavior is unacceptable, Angela. It doesn't matter if you had a hand in it. If Roadhog can't control his emotions, or if he's too dependent on his gas, we're going to have to terminate them."

Mercy paused. "Which kind of 'terminate' is that?"

Winston paused now. "…I didn't think of that. Honestly, it might have to be more than simply letting them go."

He scowled. "Should never have let them on board."

"Just let me handle it for now. There's no doubt the two are on edge, and we don't need them to be more suspicious of us."

"Doctor Zeigler…."

She exhaled, and re-steeled her face. "If they act up again, then we can… deal with them."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Angela, but this is something I can't overlook. I'm being lenient enough letting him off with a warning. I'm sorry, but that's final."

Angela sighed. "Very well, if I cannot convince you."

Her thoughts turned to the other troublemaker now residing in Watchpoint: Gibraltar. "Have you decided what we're going to do with Soldier: 76?"

"Yes, actually. He's agreed to work with us. For almost no pay, in fact."

Angela could not believe her ears. "Haven't we learned enough about recruiting mercenaries from Roadhog and Junkrat, Winston?"

"Now, Angela, wait-"

"No, do not 'wait' me here." Her voice was rising now, and Angela did not often raise her voice. "Roadhog and Junkrat have, at the very least, never shown any ill will towards Overwatch or any of its agents until today. Soldier: 76 has repeatedly targeted operations necessary to this organization staying afloat, and has clearly done enough research against multiple key operatives of ours to effectively neuter them even while outnumbered. And you intend to give him uncontrolled access to this facility? There's no telling what sort of damage he might do."

"Roadhog and Junkrat have never done anything to jeopardize Overwatch." To his credit, Winston did not lose his own temper.

"Roadhog and Junkrat were criminals on the run. We have given them a steady income, a place to eat and rest, and some form of protection from the law. They have no reason to jeopardize that safety."

"Soldier: 76 is in much the same boat, is he not?"

"Soldier: 76 has a clear, demonstrated _vendetta_ against us." Angela leaned in, scowl now apparent on her face. "He is interested in what happened to _Reyes_ , Winston."

That got his attention. "What?"

Now she relaxed her posture, but crossed her arms and closed her eyes in irate recollection. "I was in a clinic in Hong Kong. Weeks before the recall. I was managing some records when he burst into the room…."

* * *

 _"I would advise against screaming, doc. Professional opinion."_

 _"Glad to see your wit is as sharp as your aim," she managed, even as he jabbed the pistol deeper into her breast. All she saw in his visor was her own glare._

 _"I try. Now, talk."_

 _"About?"_

 _"The reconstitution procedure you did to Gabriel Reyes."_

 _"Absolutely not. Doctor-patient confidentially is not something broken lightly."_

 _Ahh. There was that pistol in her breast. That complicated things._

 _"Talk, doc."_

 _Her mind raced. No one was due to pass by her wing, let alone walk by her office. Her own combat training was minimal, and there was no way she was going to outdo him in a brawl. Especially not since he already had her pinned against the wall. Her pistol was on the other side of the room, thrown there by the soldier when he surprised her. If she had her armor on, she might trust it to take a shot, but she was in her coat and slacks right now._

 _She grimaced. She could take her secrets to the grave. Perhaps that was the wise thing to do. She was a great doctor, but she was under no illusions that the world of medicine could not move on without her._

 _Ahh, yes, the pistol. She had nearly forgotten about that._

 _"Fine. I'll talk." So she did. All the while, she searched for some betrayal of response in his visor or body, but got none. When she finished, he threw down a smoke bomb, and even after fighting her way out of it, coughing, he was nowhere to be seen._

* * *

Winston's face was far more sober after her story. "I had no idea…."

"I don't even know _where_ he could have learned about that, but anyone who went through the trouble to find that out-"

"If you've got something to say about me, say it to my face."

She didn't need to turn around to know who was in the doorway. All Winston had in response to her stink eye was a sheepish smile.

She took a fortifying breath, and put on her best professional doctor smile. "Well, it seems the decision has already been made."

She turned around and walked up to Soldier: 76, shaking his hand. "I feel we've gotten started on the wrong foot. My name is Doctor Angela Zeigler. I look forward to working with you."

"Pleasure, doc. Soldier: 76." She released his right hand, and he closed and opened it a few times. "Quite the grip you have there."

"I hate letting my patients go."

"Glad to know I'm in good hands." _And don't you forget whose hands your life is in._

With a final nod, he turned away and left the room. Angela took one more deep breath.

"Angela?"

"Hm?"

"No accidents, please."

She left the command room behind. With luck, the bottle of brandy should still be in her desk….


	11. Arrival

_I'd like to thank Faranight, Nadare, and VMLM for their prereading of this chapter._

* * *

Roadhog idly wondered if the new scaffolding in the hangar was for dramatic lighting. Surely they had better things to do with their funding than that?

Another new arrival was due, and several of the agents had gathered once again in the hangar. The same charade played out. The aircraft landed, the ramp unfolded, the new arrivals descended. One looked like some omnic warrior, the other an omnic monk.

Roadhog knew that wasn't going to work.

The good doctor strode forward from the group to receive them. "Genji! It is so good to see you again."

The warrior – Genji, presumably – bowed to her. Dork. "It is an honor and pleasure to see you again, Doctor Ziegler." He rose from his bow and gestured to the monk. "I'd like you to meet my teacher and guide, Zenyatta."

The monk bowed to the doctor. "It is an honor to meet you in person. Genji speaks very highly of you."

As the rest of the group moved forward to join the trio, Roadhog hung back, mildly fuming.

A yawn drew his attention behind him. "Oi, what's the commotion about?" Junkrat smacked his lips a couple times before looking at the group. His eyes squinted, and his countenance changed from tired to angry.

"Hey! I did _not_ sign up to work with a bunch of clankers!"

That ended the pleasantries. All the assembled now looked at Junkrat, who was now hobbling furiously up to Winston, almost comical disgust on his face.

"Come on, big guy, I told you I don't play nice with omnics." Junkrat tried to sling his arm around the monkey. Roadhog noted the normally hunched-over man had to actually stand up somewhat straight to do so. Winston was at least receptive of the gesture.

"Please, Junkrat. We can discuss this privately, can't we?"

"I don't know, big guy." Now he strode right up to Zenyatta, barely inches away from him. "I mean, look at this guy. Look at him! He's floating. If that ain't unnatural, I don't know what is. You can't trust a clanker, you know that? They're just ones and zeroes. The moment you stop being useful – Bam! They'll stick a knife in your back faster than-"

Roadhog put his hand on Junkrat's shoulder, and Junkrat turned to face him mid-rant. "What is it? Oh, don't tell me you're taking their side, you big lug. You hate omnics!"

Well, that particular cat was out of the bag. Roadhog snorted.

"You can't be serious, mate. Are you sure your head's on straight? Did you take your morning huff today?"

Roadhog snorted. Again.

"Oh, fine. But we're having this discussion later!" With that, Junkrat threw his hands into the air and stormed towards the barracks. Roadhog turned back to the two omnics. They had shared a couple of glances during Junkrat's outburst, but had said nothing until now. Robot freaks.

The warrior one bowed to him. "Thank you. I understand that not all are comfortable with omnics, but it is good to see-"

Roadhog completely accidentally took a wide turn as he turned around and unintentionally slammed his broadside into the warrior's shoulder, taking absolutely no pleasure as he saw him stumble.

Roadhog would have waddled back to his room, but the mission pager started beeping.

"Sorry to cut short the pleasantries, but we have to go. I'll brief us on the way."

* * *

That monkey was going to need to learn better conflict resolution skills. Placing Roadhog and the damn omnic ninja on the same team was going to be a recipe for disaster. He could tolerate the other members. The doctor was going to be an issue, but not insurmountable. He'd had no altercations with the cowboy or the zippy girl. But the omnic ninja was going to be a problem.

He scowled inwardly. It was unlikely he could orchestrate a believable accident for the omnic during the mission. Nor would it do well to outright murder him, on the mission or beforehand. Roadhog had enough sense for that. Even if this Overwatch gig wasn't going to be a long-term commitment, it wouldn't do well to jeopardize his standing just yet.

"Roadhog? Were you paying attention?"

Roadhog didn't even pretend that he had been.

Winston groaned. "I'll rehash it quickly. We need to move."

Truthfully, Roadhog had gleam a few things. They were going to Siberia to help relieve pressure from a relatively recent omnic resurgence. An outlying village had been under siege for the past few days, and they weren't going to hold much longer. When the doctor had asked about the risks of going in as an illegal, unauthorized taskforce, Winston had sheepishly admitted he hoped their help would be goodwill enough for the local authorities to turn a blind eye.

Frankly, the chance to blow up some clankers was good enough for Roadhog. It was too long since he'd had the opportunity to wreck a whole lot of them. He hadn't had the chance since... since the war.

Roadhog quickly decided to think of other things.

"Did you catch _that_ , Roadhog?"

He shrugged and grunted. The monkey's shoulders sagged in defeat, but he said no more.

* * *

Siberia was cold. Roadhog had endured colder before, but he was a bit underdressed. Apparently, they didn't have a winter coat in his size. Still, Roadhog was the strong, silent type, and complained not as they pushed onward.

They'd made their landing right outside the village, and had been greeted with optimism. Any help was good help, they'd said. They had no fear of the U.N. pulling support because the U.N. wasn't giving any support.

Idly, Roadhog thought of the Australian government pulling support for the old Outback.

Without an attack happening that instant, the team wandered into the various corners of the village. Soon, Roadhog was alone, sitting inside the considerably warmer confines of the dropship.

"You have made no attempt at socializing with the team, Roadhog. Studies suggest that interaction builds stronger relationships, which leader to higher overall team performance."

Roadhog wished he was alone, anyway. Damn AI in the ship. He had no great love for artificial intelligence. They were practically omnics without bodies, and it was no secret that AI had played key roles in destabilizing the omnic world.

"One of the shops may sell a coat in your size. I will see that you will be reimbursed for the purchase."

Now it was trying too hard. Besides, he didn't have any legal tender for this place. (Carrying loads of cash around is a great way to make oneself a big target. Roadhog and Junkrat made it a point to only carry enough at a given time for essentials and a bit of discretionary fun.) Maybe he could have bargained a coat as payment for protection, but he had a hunch Winston would disapprove. He might even make Roadhog give the coat back.

"If you continue this sort of obstinate behavior, I will have no choice but to alert Winston to a potential weak link in the organization."

It was only Roadhog's honor as a warrior that kept any of the number of biting remarks about weak links from escaping him. It was his years of experience of enduring Junkrat that let him tune out the AI.

His thoughts drifted to more important matters, such as the upcoming escape. Athena was going to be a problem, and neither he nor Junkrat were great masters in disabling AI without high explosives. Pay off the AI? Not impossible; they'd done it before. But Roadhog had no idea what sort of payment could sway Athena. He could enlist the aid of a hacker – the pair had a few contacts – but Roadhog had a certain distaste for electronic crime. Didn't have the visceral feel of a real heist. Maybe their kind made more money or knew more secrets, but they weren't real criminals in his eyes.

Still, they were useful, and even the self-proclaimed one-man apocalypse wasn't above calling in a favor. He pulled out his phone and idly scrolled through his contacts.

It was sweet serendipity that one of them happened to be in Russia.


	12. The Start of Something New

_I would like to that VMLM and Nadare for their prereading of this chapter._

* * *

It was the next day that the team met with the local soldiers stationed at the village. They were a hardy bunch, and if the reaction of the team was any indication, a pleasure to be around. (Roadhog spent too much time not socializing to get a good read.) Unfortunately, omnic forces were far more concentrated in other places, and the Russian military could only spare so much for an outlying village of relative unimportance. It was a cruel reality of war.

Roadhog made it a point to not think of the small towns abandoned by the ALF to fight against the omnics.

But here was Overwatch to save the day. A team of ragtag heroes, fighting against impossible odds, breaking international statutes, to help those the world left behind. It sounded like something out of a cartoon or comic book.

Roadhog knew how these sorts of stories played out in real life.

So he didn't exactly share in the team's optimism. He didn't expect to die here, not to a bunch of damn clankers, but he didn't expect the village to hold, and he certainly didn't plan to lay down his life for it.

Thankfully, his shtick as the quiet one meant he was able to keep his less-pleasant thoughts to himself.

* * *

"That's a lot of them." Tracer fidgeted slightly as the party now gathered around a radar display.

"We can take 'em. Once held a Deadlock stronghold outnumbered fifty to one for a week."

"Wasn't that when Gabriel recruited you… _after_ beating you and your little gang?"

The cowboy suddenly found the scenery very interesting.

Winston pounded the table once, getting everyone's attention. "Come on, we don't have much time. The enemy will be approaching from these vectors. We'll have to make a stand here."

The plan was simple enough. The team would post at the most dangerous choke the omnics were coming through, a valley that sloped up to the village. Once a lull in the waves came, the team would push up and destroy a nearby mining operation of the omnics, hopefully halting further omnic activity in the area.

A wiser mind might have criticized the plan for being too optimistically simple... but Roadhog was always a fan of simple solutions.

* * *

They came in the dead of night. Roadhog had been on watch duty when he saw them. Really, for a bunch of computers, they sure did some dumb things like putting lights on themselves. How, exactly, did they expect to surprise anyone in the dark like that?

Still, he had a job to do. He reached for his communicator… and found an empty holster. Patting himself down, he grumbled. In the dark, he couldn't see where it had fallen in the snow.

He settled for the next best thing. A primal roar echoed throughout the village and down the valley.

Moments later, a beeping came from the snow. Ahh, there was his comms unit.

 _"Roadhog, are you trying to wake the dead?"_ The monkey was clearly not happy about having his beauty sleep interrupted. _"We'll be there. Two minutes."_

It was going to take a lot less than two minutes for the omnics to hit. Roadhog lit a few torches. Not protocol, but he thought they looked nice in the dark night.

Underneath his mask, he smiled a toothy grin. Just like the Hold of Uluru back home.

The first omnics made the mistake of thinking numbers advantage meant something to Roadhog. For that, the first one got the pointy end of his hook, and the others got the blunt end of their friend.

Five down, about five thousand more to go. No pressure.

* * *

Every warrior had his trigger. That feeling which gave the rush of battle. Some people reveled in the visuals of blood splatters and fiery explosions. Others loved the feel of steel rending flesh. For Roadhog, it was sound. The gentle clinking reel of his chain as it flew. The whipping of the wind as he slung his hook around. The distorted buzzes and beeps of a now-malfunctioning omnic.

Each screech of rended metal and crunch of dented steel was music to his ears, almost intoxicating. He could barely feel the bullets and laser bolts striking his chest. He took a hit of his gas and hurled the empty canister through a spider bot's visual sensors.

He was so intensely into the slaughter of bots that he almost missed the arrival of the rest of the team. His heart almost sank at the idea that now he'd have to share the glory. Indeed, the rest of the mission went by quickly once he had reinforcements. They'd marched right down the valley and destroyed the mining base before high noon the next day.

The walk back was full of cheer for the rest of the team, but Roadhog kept to himself in silence. Quite frankly, the ease with which they'd completed the mission had made Roadhog downright bored. Not that he was particularly upset his life hadn't been on the line, but where had the excitement, the thrill of the slaughter been? It had been all too routine, orderly. Roadhog didn't believe that art was an explosion (or was it that explosions were an art?), but junking bots was supposed to be fun.

Roadhog groaned. The things one does to receive a quarter of an untold fortune.

* * *

The entire team was in high spirits over their first victory. He didn't think the zippy girl could get more excitable. Apparently, he was wrong.

"Aww yeah, we're back in business!"

The omnic ninja chuckled. "Yes. It feels good to work together again."

Winston called the team to the town gate. "Good work, team. I cannot say how happy I am to say that our first big team mission was a success. We'll celebrate tonight, and head home in the morning."

And a celebration it was. The villagers brought out vodka – the real stiff stuff, they said. McCree promptly took on someone in a drinking competition and lost even quicker. Even though the village wasn't that big, they brought out a splay of food that could have fed twice as many people.

Roadhog had to admit a small amount of satisfaction at watching the omnic ninja look at the food wistfully. Not only did the omnic not get to partake in the joy of gluttony, Roadhog got to take a double portion of food. Well, at least a double portion. He wasn't really keeping track.

"Roadhog, that sort of wanton consumption isn't good for your health." At least, he was pretty sure that's what the doctor said. He was too busy eating and too loudly chewing to really make it out.

Still, after his fill, Roadhog excused himself from the pleasantries. He had an appointment to keep.

* * *

"Finally. Thought you weren't going to show."

Roadhog snorted, looking down at the little woman, idly playing with her holographic interface.

She didn't even look at him as she talked. "So what's the job, big guy? Need some flight records changed? Tips on a heist? Talk to me here."

Their relationship had been one of mutual usefulness. Just as Roadhog had a distaste for cybercriminals, Sombra was no fan of typical crooks. But Roadhog and Junkrat had a knack for removing non-electronic obstacles, and muscle and fire worked in places that bits and bytes didn't. After all, you can't download a car, or a computer chip, or an experimental neural cable. It was perhaps a stereotypical brains and brawn partnership, but it worked out well enough.

"Hack into the Overwatch base in Gibraltar. I need the cameras down for an hour, and the local AI offline."

That got her interest. Not even her mastery in stealth could hide the smile on her face. "Watchpoint: Gibraltar? You were planning on breaking into Watchpoint: Gibraltar and you didn't tell me? You dirty _cerdito_."

"Not in. Out."

"…Out?" She tilted her head, enthusiasm traded for confusion. "Don't tell me… You're working for Overwatch?"

He shrugged. She grinned.

"You, of all people? And of course, _la rata_ , too. Oh, this is just rich." Her hand half-over her mouth did nothing to stop her giggles, which turned to shaking, doubled over laughter. "Oh, Roadhog and Junkrat, wanted scoundrels, Overwatch agents."

A scowl formed behind his mask. "Not for much longer. Can you do it?"

"Could I? _Cerdito_ , you wound me. If you wanted some classified information off an offline server locked up in the basement of a forgotten secret military base, I might let that slide, but something as simple as turning some cameras and an AI off?"

He hated when she got talkative, especially when they were talking business. And they only talked business. Did no one understand the importance of peace and quiet? He stepped, almost stomped forward, a growl rumbling from his throat.

"What's the rush, _chicharrón_? You were late, remember? Besides, we haven't even discussed payment. What's in it for me?"

Roadhog had a feeling that "the thrill of the undertaking" wasn't going to cut it. But what could he offer? Money didn't mean much to someone who called the world's bank accounts her own. Some piece of technology or hardware? Perhaps, but what could he offer from a half-functional Overwatch base? He hadn't even scouted what goodies to take, let alone what she could be interested in.

"Besides, why would I let go of my one point of entry into the new Overwatch? You could do so much more for me as a double agent."

"That sounds less like a job for you and more like a job for me."

"Well, maybe. But I think we can help each other. You feed me info on Overwatch, and I'll feed you info on Talon. Think of it as… job security."

Roadhog said nothing.

"Come on, you're a smart guy. We both know that once we're no longer useful, they'll drop us – or worse. We drop hints, tips here and there, we keep the conflict going, we keep getting paychecks."

"What's a paycheck to you?"

"Well, maybe it's not the paychecks keeping me at Talon. But they do have some very 'nice' people there. I'm sure you can think of some 'nice' people at Overwatch, can't you?"

Honestly, he hadn't really considered it. There were too many goody two-shoes there for him to really want to keep working with them. But… he supposed he could find a use for them.

"So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?" She extended her arm.

He took her hand and shook it.


	13. Past, Future

_I would like to thank Yay899 and Nadare for their prereading of this chapter._

* * *

Roadhog had not gotten any fonder of mission briefings – or the monkey giving them – since his time at Watchpoint. Nor had he gotten fonder of the food, company, or bedding for that matter, but that was a different issue.

"We've gotten reports of heavy terrorist activity in Zukunft, Germany. A group by the name of Neo-Tech has seized several key points throughout the district, and driven out the civilian population. We're sending you in to liberate the city."

Roadhog looked to his sides. Flanking him were the rocket girl, the old man, and the vigilante. Not his preferred choice of company, but mercenaries can't be choosers… or something like that.

"Before you ask, yes, this is a grave overstepping our bounds, even by our already illegal standards. But that's why I picked you four. After all, none of you have any concern for laws that get in the way of doing good, and... _some_ of you are fighting for justice."

Roadhog allowed that quip to slide.

"We're landing in the middle of the district. From there, I want you to do a radial sweep and clear all resistance."

"Including law enforcement?"

The monkey glared at Roadhog. "... _Most_ resistance. Dismissed."

* * *

Roadhog idly turned the mission briefing over in his head, the only sound the drum of the dropship. It was nice to get out - Roadhog didn't have the skills to really maintain any other functions around the base. He wasn't a techie like the dwarf or Junkrat, he wasn't a scientist like the monkey or the doctor. No, he was an agent of action, through and through.

Come to think of it, so was everyone else on the mission. This was the rocket girl's first official mission, and he could tell she'd been antsy for some action.

Actually, it was the first official mission for everyone other than him. Did that make him the senior officer? Roadhog snort-chuckled at the thought.

...Which drew all the attention to him. Inconvenient.

He snarled, and everyone found the dropship interior much more interesting.

Unfortunately, the blissful silence was not meant to last. Damn girl. "Who's the commanding officer for this mission? Winston didn't say."

The vigilante shrugged. "Guess it's up to us. I nominate myself."

"I'm not taking orders from a _criminal_."

"I've forgotten more about leading missions than you'll ever know, kid."

"I thought you were a lone wolf, 76. What, are you a deserter, too?" That one clearly stung. The vigilante recoiled back, then leaned in, voice now laced with anger.

"Listen here, kid. Don't you try to lecture me from your moral high ground."

The bickering intensified, and Roadhog shared a look with the old man, who just looked… disappointed at the whole mess. Roadhog decided to help end this mess.

"As the senior officer, I will lead."

The rocket girl narrowed her eyes. "You've been on _one_ mission. I've been on, _and lead_ , countless missions with the Egyptian Army and Helix International."

Unfortunately for her, the old man had an even better claim to leadership. "As one of the original members of Overwatch, and seeing as none of you are, I will lead this mission."

The vigilante tensed up at the declaration, Roadhog noted, but said nothing.

* * *

Zukunft was a mess. That was the polite way of putting it. Looking out the window, Roadhog saw walls chipped, roads cracked, windows blown out. Fortifications, made of junk and hastily-poured concrete, were scattered all throughout the city. Behind many of them were strange human-machine hybrids.

Strange indeed. Instead of preserving a mostly humanoid shape, like most cyborg groups did, these Neo-Tech freaks were adding extra limbs, going on all fours, even abandoning the human image entire for forms such as felines or spiders. Disgusting. A few were even flying, having traded their legs for jets.

The old man looked especially distraught. "In all my years… I've never seen something so _sick_. Why… what does this accomplish?"

The vigilante appeared relatively nonplussed. "You haven't been looking in the right places, old man. This sort of stuff is everywhere."

"I don't think I want to start finding more of it, soldier."

Whatever further thoughts the party had on the matter were pushed aside as Athena spoke. "I am dropping you at the designated site. Good luck."

The doors opened, the group spilled out, and the firefight broke out.

* * *

The one benefit of fighting these crazies, Roadhog surmised, was that there was never any shortage of scrap. Kill one, tear off whatever enhancements he'd attached to himself, shove it into his gun, and kill another. Rinse and repeat.

Small condolences, he thought, as he dodged another spider-human-robot-hybrid-thing's leg trying to stab him. He grabbed it, soldiered through the pain as the edge cut his fingers, and snapped it. Unbalanced, it tilted over, and he stabbed the still-human head through with the shard.

One down, countless more to go. It was just… disturbing, fighting these deformed humans… if you could call them that. There wasn't a lot that could scare Roadhog, but this… Well, he wouldn't have admitted it, but it got its foot way deeper into the door than most things could.

Also, their constant blathering about how they were the future of human evolution was really starting to get on his nerves.

* * *

Roadhog had idly hoped that they had seen the worst of the freaks with the jets-for-legs and saws-for-arms. His hopes were in vain.

"What is _that?_ "

"That" looked like it was supposed to be an omnic. It bore the usual dotted pattern most modern omnics had, and it was actually decently humanoid.

Except "that" also appeared to have biological growths all over it, and a human left leg. It almost made Roadhog sick.

Then "that" unfolded metal wings from its back, and on those wings were skin. Human-like skin.

Roadhog was sick now.

"Behold, the Übermensch as prophesied long ago! I am the beginning of the new dominant species on Earth! Not human, nor omnic… I am more."

Roadhog's hook and scrap gun disagreed.

* * *

Night had fallen, and thankfully it seemed even those freaks needed to sleep. Unfortunately, so did the team, and even though Roadhog was all for taking a free stay at a local hotel, the old man vetoed his suggestion. It felt strange, setting up a campfire in the middle of a city, but the old man insisted. Something about honor and not being looters. Roadhog thought it was a bunch of hooey, but he wasn't the leader. So there they were, four heavily-armed and dangerous individuals, quietly picking away at their packaged rations.

No, not even that.

"Your food is going to get cold, Roadhog," the old man chided him.

"You and I both know this stuff tastes like garbage, hot or cold." Not that the vigilante was eating, either. Must have been the mask. "Besides, it's his turn on watch."

"Don't even bother, Reinhardt." The rocket girl shook her head. "They're just criminals."

"Criminals that have been around a lot longer than you, kid."

The old man looked so defeated at this point. "Can't we all just get along, for one mission?"

Roadhog snorted. The vigilante laughed.

He had to admit, having a kindred soul in the organization other than Junkrat was nice. He'd heard of Soldier: 76 through keeping up with the news cycle, but he'd never run into him before that mission in Hong Kong. The realism the vigilante had about the world was a much-needed balance to all the optimism that oozed through the base. Even in the face of the direst of news, everyone seems to just be so upbeat, chipper, and _confident_ about the future. Roadhog couldn't understand it.

Finally, Roadhog had to concede to his grumbling stomach. Thankfully, it was the vigilante's turn to stand watch, and he returned to his now-stale food. Well, staler food. He sat so that his back was to the party, lifted his mask only enough to expose his mouth, and took a spoonful of what was labeled "Beef Stew."

Roadhog had eaten enough beef stew to know this was not beef stew.

Still, he had a strong enough stomach, and so ate slowly and deliberately. (Eating slower helps one feel fuller, and Roadhog did not want to have to ask for another portion of the stuff. Not that they had any to spare.) Behind him was only the quiet sound of chewing and the rocket girl and old man conversing.

"Did I ever tell you about that time we liberated London from Null Sector?"

A laugh. "Yes, but you're going to tell me the story again anyway, aren't you?"

It was going to be a long night.


	14. Old Soldiers

_I would like to thank Yay899, Nadare, and chocco for their prereading of this chapter._

* * *

Roadhog hated being woken up while he was asleep. He hated it more when he'd just fallen asleep. It was a hard thing to do… which made him more annoyed whenever someone managed to actually do it.

He grumbled. He'd finished his watch shift a while back, and traded places with the vigilante. There were murmurings outside his tent. He was going to kill someone. In the literal, not the figurative.

"This wasn't part of the plan, Jack."

"When has anything we ever done gone to plan?"

So, his name was Jack? Considering the vigilante had gone to great lengths to conceal his identity, he supposed that information could be useful. He tucked it away for later.

Well, if they were going to keep him up, he supposed he could afford to listen in.

"So, what new intel have you found, Shrike?"

"Please, Jack. It's Ana when it's just the two of us."

"You never know who's listening. Speaking of, stop calling me Jack."

A sigh. "Very well. I've found a Talon safehouse in Tuscany. If my intel is correct, it's where some of the first work on Project: Widowmaker happened. They've gone lax on the guard patrols. I'm going to infiltrate and see what I can find."

Now _this_ was useful. Quite frankly, he'd been hard-pressed to feed useful intel on Overwatch to Sombra. Most of the stuff he came by was either related to missions he went on (and he wasn't about to sabotage any missions he was on), or after-the-fact through cafeteria gossip. But this… this was useful.

"So, _Jack_ , what's it like not having to be in charge anymore?"

Another sigh, long and drawn out. "Honestly… it's such a weight off my shoulders. I don't envy Winston in the slightest. I remember back when he was just another researcher working for Overwatch. I never thought it would make such a profound impact on him that he would start up a recall.

"Speaking of the recall… I suppose you've heard the news."

"Yes… I can't say I'm happy. But… I suppose I should talk to her about it. I wish I'd heard about it _before_ I sent the letter. Do you know how much trouble I had to go through to get that letter out of the postal system?"

"The great Ana Amari, legendary sniper, feared bounty hunter, can't retrieve a damn lost letter in the mail."

A snort. "Oh, so now it's okay to use names?"

"You started it."

Okay, clearly nothing more useful was going to be said, and they were making it impossible for him to sleep. Grumbling, he rose from his sleeping bag, got dressed, and opened his tent.

He nearly got hit with a dart for his trouble. He looked at the offending pair, and scowled from under his mask.

Now he got a look at the woman the vigilante was talking to. Well, he guessed it was a woman from the voice and body shape. Her whole body was covered, a distinct mask with a triangular pattern on her face.

For a moment, he looked at them, and they looked at him, the only sound being Roadhog's heavy breathing.

Finally, tired of the charade, Roadhog stood to full height, and glared menacingly, growling.

The woman – Ana, was that her name? – was unmoved. "Now, now, child. Use your words."

Roadhog's growl deepened.

"You're going to wake the others, you know." Now her hands were on her hips, as if she were scolding a little kid.

He was sorely tempted to kill her. Sorely tempted. But he didn't.

"Now, sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep."

He was about to take her advice when the vigilante sprinted over to him and grabbed him. "You were listening, weren't you?"

Roadhog said nothing.

"You were, you rat!"

"Technically, Jack, he's the pig. His partner is the rat." Roadhog had to admit, he was starting to like this lady.

"He's a threat to our entire operation!" the vigilante harshly whispered.

"There's nothing to be done about it now, Jack. I'll be fine."

The vigilante let Roadhog go, but spun Roadhog around to face him. "I'm _watching you_." Then he stalked off back to his post, and the masked lady went and disappeared into the darkness.

Roadhog muttered nothings to himself, went back inside his tent, and fell asleep.

* * *

The small blessing of falling asleep in his clothes was that he didn't need to waste time getting changed the next day. He'd take every small thing he could at this point; he'd gone back to sleep so late he'd woken up late the next day, and barely had enough time to pack and shove some food in his mouth before they were on the move.

The old man led the party through the side streets. "With fortune, we should be dealing with the last pockets of resistance. We'll be heading up through-"

A rocket narrowly missing the party put that discussion on hold.

"Get behind me!" called the old man, putting his barrier up. Just in time, too; several more rockets impacted on the rectangular shield, sending ripples through the hard light.

The rest of the party sprang into action. The rocket girl burst into the sky and started dogfighting the flying hybrids, and the vigilante dashed behind the old man and tore into the advancing enemies. Roadhog posted behind the old man as well, pumping scrap into the freaks.

One, two, seven, it didn't matter how many the team took down. Even as the bodies stacked up and the streets were filled with piles of flesh and metal, there were more and more. Roadhog would have understood if they were fighting purely omnic foes. Omnics could be pumped out by the dozen. But these were mixes of omnic and human. Some of them clearly with omnic bases and organic attachments, yes, but many of them were clearly human with omnic attachments. Where were they all coming from?

His musing almost got him killed. A sharp leg came down into his right shoulder blade, and Roadhog howled in pain, snapped out of his thoughts. His right arm went limp, and his scrap gun clattered to the ground. He looked up to his assailant – a machine with four long, spider-like legs, with a body on top in the center. The human part flashed him a sinister smile. Roadhog swore he saw metal canine implants in the beast's mouth.

Growling, Roadhog shifted his weight, backpedaling, trying to unbalance the spider-centaur-human-omnic thing and force it to pull out its leg. But the creature kept pace with him, and stuck its other front leg in his other shoulder. Roadhog hissed, part in pain, part annoyance at dropping his chain and hook.

Satisfied with neutering its target, the creature withdrew its legs, and Roadhog stumbled around before leaning against a wall. Of all the ways to go. All he could do was watch the beast raise its legs one more time to impale him through something much more vital – his head or heart, perhaps.

Then the concussive blast came. It struck the freak straight in the chest, throwing it back into a wall, before it fell over, all its legs in the air and unable to right itself. It screamed something foreign (in German, most likely) before a rocket struck it in the underbelly, severing flesh from machine. Another rocket put the freak out of its misery.

"Roadhog! Are you alright?" The old man rushed over to him, spinning around to bat away two flesh-omnics in hot pursuit, before turning his attention back to Roadhog.

Roadhog gave him a look.

Rocket girl landed, and the vigilante now joined the huddle around Roadhog. The girl winced as she saw the wounds on Roadog's shoulders. "Can you walk?"

Tentatively, Roadhog stepped away from the wall. He wobbled and stumbled before falling back against the wall, a curse escaping him.

The vigilante took something out of his pack and hurled it to the ground. It popped open on impact, legs splaying out and fine mist, smelling of medicine and nanomachines, filled the air. "Now's as good a time as any to recharge, anyway. How much farther, old man?"

"We're almost to their headquarters. Hopefully that will be the last of it, then we can leave the rest to the local law enforcement and military."

For a short moment, the group stood together in silence, letting their wounds mend while they exchanged glances. If there were second guesses and doubts, no one betrayed them.

Finally, the field faded, and the vigilante repacked it. The old man hefted his hammer. "Are we all ready?"

The other two nodded, and all three turned to Roadhog. He shook his arms out, grinning under his mask at the return of sensation. He strode over to his fallen weapons and picked them up, then turned around and gave an emphatic nod.

It was payback time.

* * *

Roadhog had seen a lot of ugly things in his life. So he knew his stuff when he decided it looked ugly.

There he – it? – stood, twice as tall as the old man, a Frankenstein of flesh and steel, in a form like a bad cross between a centaur and a griffon. He had the upright body of a man, on a four-legged base like a horse, and wings along the lower back. It held in its hands what looked like a cannon with a two-sided axe at the end.

On the surface, most of his body was flesh. But peeking out were metal extrusions that betrayed the truth – it was flesh grown over a metal structure, a stray uncovered toe or finger "bone" exposed. The muscles bled and tore around joints, skin rubbed raw or peeling off. Nor was this skin only human skin, but a patchwork of what must have been several animals. Fur, scales, spikes, all dotted the creature. Along the wings were a grotesque layer skin that ran too tight along its metal frame, and bulges of flesh in all the wrong places. Small, sharp protrusions even poked, though. A smattering of feathers, too light to cover the true nature of the wings, dotted the atrocity. And then there were the rockets, skin pulled over them. Completely over them, even the business end. Naturally, the skin did not stop the rockets from firing, and the skin charred and blackened around the edges of the rocket.

Then it spoke. God, it spoke in a voice that sounded like a smoker using those small, electric voice boxes from the twenty-tens, yet far too regal and booming for such a monstrosity.

"Now, you gaze upon your final evolution. Behold, for I am the root of the future of all sapient life on this planet. I am Adam. Cherish this moment, for you are the first to gaze upon greatness."

Roadhog readied his hook.


	15. Crunch Time

_I would like to thank Yay899, Nadare, chocco, and Kaira for their prereading of this chapter._

* * *

The first laser blast sent the team scattering. The vigilante dove behind a piece of rubble, and the rocket girl burst into the air. The old man and Roadhog struggled a bit more to find cover, but the old man put his barrier up and Roadhog stood behind it.

From the safety of hard light, Roadhog scanned the field of combat. They were at an intersection, in front of an apartment complex, the so-called headquarters of Neo-Tech. The usual fixings of any city - street signs, fire hydrants, parked cars - decorated the scene.

Another laser blast shook the barrier, and Roadhog remembered he had to figure out how to kill the damned freak.

To their credit, the vigilante and rocket girl were putting it through its paces. Pulse rounds lit up the sky, and rockets whistled through the air. Unfortunately, for something way bigger than the old man, Adam was surprisingly agile, and was being hit by precious little. What did hit it seemed to impact harmlessly off an energy shield.

Oh well. Bigger they are, harder they fall. Roadhog assisted in pummeling the barrier around Adam, ripples now appearing all around him.

If the freak was concerned about all the focused fire, it didn't show it. In fact, it looked rather bored of the whole charade to Roadhog.

A sudden dive at the grouped-up pair led Roadhog to believe Adam was going to start trying.

Neither Roadhog nor the old man were agile enough to get out of the way, and the two were thrown aside. Reinhardt stumbled back into a car, and Roadhog tumbled into a wall.

"Reinhardt!" The rocket girl boosted down to check on the old man. A lapse in vigilance which lead to her getting an energy blast in the back. She cried out in pain, and landed on the ground with a thud.

"I tire of your insolence. My superiority has already been demonstrated." With that, the winged centaur took off.

A growl escaped from the vigilante. "No you don't! I've got you in my sights!" His visor lit up, and a fresh volley of rounds tore at Adam.

Casually, it turned back and deflected the rounds on the blade of its axe. No, more than that - it was reflecting them back at the vigilante, forcing him back into cover.

The old man grunted and dashed in front of the vigilante. However, Roadhog could see the cracks in the barrier, and he had a feeling it wouldn't last for much longer.

Scowling, Roadhog ran forward as well and continued to pummel the barrier with his scrap gun. He hurled his hook at Adam, chancing a snag, but all it did was bounce off the barrier.

"If you are so determined to die here, I suppose I can oblige you." From its breasts came twin blasters - an image Roadhog did not need to see. Then the blasters started charging, and he idly wondered if its plan was to shame the party to death with horrific images.

Then the barrage of plasma started raining down. No, the plan was clearly to vaporize them. All four of them ducked into the same building, pensively looking out a window, as it turned around and flew away.

"Damn it!" Rocket girl swore and kicked at a chair. (They had taken shelter in a restaurant, Roadhog noticed.) "We let him get away."

"We completed our mission - remove Neo-Tech from the city. We just need to wait for extraction." The old man sounded unconvinced at his own words.

"Like hell this mission is over." The vigilante pounded on one of the tables. "We're taking him down."

"And how do you propose we catch our friend?"

The vigilante turned to rocket girl. "Can you catch up to him?"

She pursed her lips. "...I'm not sure."

"Is that the sort of answer you give your superiors back at Helix? Back when you were in the military?"

That got her standing up straight. She even saluted him. "I can do it, sir!"

"Good. So here's the plan," he stated while grabbing a pen from a hostess booth. "Pharah is going to pursue Adam through the skies, and delay him as much as possible. Give us coordinates as you follow him, and we'll run through the city. Ignore other resistance as much as possible; we want to cut the head of the snake off. We'll move as the crow flies as much as possible, even if it means breaking through some walls. As long as he hasn't left the city, we should be able to catch up with him."

Roadhog muttered to himself as the vigilante went over the plan. The vigilante hadn't answered a key question. "And how are we going to bring him down through the barrier?"

The old man had an idea. "My hammer can release a fireball that pierces most barrier fields. It should be able to penetrate his, but that means I won't be able to cover you."

The vigilante nodded. "Then we'll just have to hit him hard and fast. Now let's move!"

* * *

"I've got visual! Moving to pursue!"

"Alright, you heard her! Follow her coordinates!" With that, the three old soldiers sprinted through the streets of Zukunft. The buildings passed by, blurred by both their speed and Roadhog's focus on the two others ahead of him. He was not usually in the business of marathoning, and it took every ounce of effort and energy to keep moving. Still, he pushed a wish for his bike to the side, and continued to thunder through the streets.

Through the streets they weaved, occasionally taking a detour through a building instead. Most of those detours involving entering through doors and exiting through windows or walls. A satisfying crunch echoed through all of their ears each time the old man's hammer slammed into a wall to make a new path for them.

"I'm not as young as I used to be, Fareeha," panted the old man. "How much further?"

"I've got fifty or so meters between us. Firing on him now." The crack of her rocket launcher came through her communicator. The hum of a laser came through not long after.

"She's got his attention! Move, move, move!" The vigilante impossibly picked up the pace, and Roadhog had to double down in order to keep up. The world seemed to fade; all Roadhog could feel was the ground beneath his feet with each step.

He was going to demand a raise after this.

"There!" The call to stop was sweet release for Roadhog, and he slammed into a wall and slumped against it, breathing heavily, straining at the sky to find the freak.

There he saw the two dogfighting, diving and rolling and swooping around each other. Stray rockets and laser bolts streaked through the sky, and the explosions sending ripples through Adam's barrier.

With a roar, the old man swung his hammer at the sky, a wave of fire released. It sailed through the air, its target unaware, and it struck in one of the wings, with a satisfying crunch and sizzle upon impact. The only thing more satisfying was the howl of pain that came from its mouth.

Now it turned to the three on the ground. "So be it." A fresh barrage of lasers flew towards the ground, and the old man put his barrier up. The impacts rattled both the barrier and him, but neither broke.

Now it was a battle. A winnable battle.

All four peppered the winged centaur with fire. Rockets, scrap, pulse rounds, all sailed towards Adam. Fireball after fireball went into the sky, and the other three tried to drive the beast into the fireballs through overwhelming pressure.

But it wasn't enough. Not enough was hitting the barrier; they couldn't force Adam to fly where they wanted. The vigilante made the call. "We need to get to higher ground. Even the altitude out a bit."

The old man was suspicious. "The power is out. There's no way we can climb all the stairs in one of those skyscrapers in time."

"We don't need to get on top of a skyscraper; those two aren't even flying above the skyline. We just need to get on top of a building."

Roadhog pointed to a shorter apartment, only four stories high, and a fire escape for easy access to the top. All they needed was a way to reach that second floor from the ground.

A way that was provided by Roadhog throwing his hook and latching it onto the second-floor balcony.

The vigilante wasted no time, quickly shimmying up the chain before climbing up the rest of the fire escape. The old man was more hesitant.

"Will it hold?"

Roadhog snorted. He'd seen it bear heavier.

With a nod, the old man slowly climbed up the chain. When he reached the second floor, he turned around and held his hand out to Roadhog. Roadhog lept up and barely grabbed the old man's hand, the fire escape groaning under their combined weight. Still, with a roar of effort, the old man pulled him up, and Roadhog landed on the fire escape with a thud, now the entire side of the building creaking. Roadhog unhitched his chain, and the two climbed up the fire escape with surprising speed.

Now on higher ground, the trio continued their assault. It felt like it was working. Occasional fireball impacts turned into regular fireball impacts, and the occasional piece of suppressive fire seemed to sneak through. Adam was visibly weakening - open wounds bled freely, raining down blood, and small bits of broken off metal came down with it.

"I think I can see the shield generator. I'm going in!" Rocket girl boosted past the creature, whirled around, and spread herself.

"Justice rains from above!"

A thousand rockets slammed into the beast.

But that was not enough. With a mix of a scowl and a roar, the beast too turned around, flew right at her, and slammed his axe down on her.

A cry of pain fell from the sky, falling down away from the party, towards a different building, a taller building.

"Fareeha!" The vigilante ran at a wall, jumped onto it, and desperately climbed up the various window fixings, springing from wall to wall, handhold to handhold.

A streak of blue continued to fall.

He continued to ascend, while Roadhog and the old man watched her fall, helpless to follow him. He looked back at Adam, breathing heavily, char marks all across his body. His attention now turned to the vigilante, and he blasted at the wall the vigilante was scaling. Even with handholds remaining intact for less than a second, the vigilante continued to climb.

The streak went silent and screamed no more as it fell.

The vigilante strained against gravity, architecture, and his own body to make it to the rooftop upon which the girl was about to impact. With a grunt of effort, he pulled himself over the edge. He ran, ran towards the shadow on the rooftop, the shadow that was growing smaller and smaller with each passing second.

He didn't make it.

The streak of blue hit the rooftop with a crunch, a crunch even the old man and Roadhog could hear from a whole block away. Then all went still and silent.


	16. Vengeance

_I would like to thank Nadare and chocco for their prereading of this chapter._

* * *

"Catch me." That's all the warning the vigilante gave before he took the rocket girl over his shoulders and began running. Running back over the roofs, more controlled falling than climbing back down. Adam had resumed shooting, and the vigilante was a lot less agile.

The old man elbowed Roadhog. "You catch him."

Roadhog grunted in curiosity.

"Your belly is softer."

Roadhog snorted, and was about to retort when the creature struck the vigilante's handhold, sending both him and rocket girl falling. Groaning, he positioned himself underneath the two, arms outstretched.

They weren't the only ones falling. Adam fell into a dive, chasing after the pair, axe held back and to the side, ready to strike.

It was falling faster than they were.

Roadhog braced himself for impact. Whether it was the impact of the two or the impact of Adam's axe, he wasn't sure.

The gap between beast and vigilante shrunk. It didn't close, but it shrunk.

That's when the old man reared back, turned the jets of his hammer on, and slung it forward.

It narrowly whizzed above the pair in blue, and struck with a resounding clank on Adam's head. It staggered it off course, while the hammer fell back down.

Two blue soldiers fell into Roadhog's arms, nearly bouncing off his belly.

"Cover me," he said, as he lay the girl down and deployed his field. "Damn, it's empty."

A growl rolled from the vigilante. Then he snapped his fingers and pointed at Roadhog. "Your gas. Give it to me."

Roadhog scowled, but obliged. The vigilante opened the can and held it over her face. "That should stabilize her. Hopefully. I'm calling HQ now for extraction."

A scream from the sky caught all of their attention, looking up in time to see Adam racing towards them again.

Idly, Roadhog noticed the scorch marks all along Adam's body. They had to have been from the rocket barrage the girl had launched earlier... which meant some of them had gotten past the barrier. Or the barrier was down.

Roadhog threw the hook out. It caught a wing.

He grinned.

With a roar, he swung the abomination around before slamming it into a skyscraper. A satisfying crack. Then he yanked back and slung it into the ground.

He jumped back down, landing with a thud and a jolt through his knees. The old man landed right next to him.

Together, they stared down Adam. It looked a lot less regal, with scars and open wounds, bent wings and busted engines. But it was no less tall, and no less angry.

"If you are so determined to die here, I will oblige you."

* * *

The old man acted first. Rockets on his armor on, he charged at the beast, roaring.

The beast, with a cry of its own, galloped right at him.

It swung its axe, but the old man ducked under and rammed into its front right leg, unbalancing it.

Roadhog took the opportunity to throw his hook, latching it onto the beast's weapon. Scowling, it tugged back, resisting Roadhog's attempts to pull it in. All the while, the old man swung at the beast's knees, wobbling it.

In one smooth motion, Adam yanked back on his weapon and fired a blast from it, forcing Roadhog to dodge and weakening his pull. Then it reared back with one of its legs and kicked the old man over.

But neither of them stayed down. The old man rolled over, rolled upright, and slammed his hammer into the creature's flank.

"You are not the first abomination I've defeated. And you will not be the last."

"You are correct, for you will not defeat me."

Hammer met axe, and knight struggled against beast in a contest of strength. The two grunted and groaned in strain.

Beast looked down. "You are inferior. You are obsolete."

Man looked up. "Justice never goes out of style."

Roadhog went forgotten in the struggle. Small blessing, because he hadn't figured out how to kill the damn thing yet. They'd made remarkable progress, but scrap and hammer were not going to be enough to take it down. Besides, the old man was too close for Roadhog to really let loose with his scrap gun.

It would come to him. Lining up his throw, he slung his hook around one of its hind legs and pulled. The beast lost its footing, and the old man took advantage. He bat the axe aside, then swung his hammer upwards, jets on full power.

A lesser being might have lost its head completely.

Adam only stumbled back.

It snarled again, and Roadhog took the cue to tug harder. It stumbled again, and the old man swung at the front leg on the same side, and it tipped over.

Now it was really angry. "You stop nothing. Your evolution is inevit-"

Its head was sandwiched between a hammer and the ground. For a long moment, Roadhog and the old man just looked at the corpse.

"You should have kept him alive for interrogation." They looked up to see the vigilante back on the ground, carrying the rocket girl around his neck, the canister of piggy gas crudely strapped to her face with some torn cloth. Completely unrelated, the vigilante's jacket had a sleeve totally torn off.

"Come on. We need to get to the extraction point."


	17. Interlude: Heroes Never Die

_I would like to thank Nadare and chocco for their prereading of this chapter._

* * *

They had not been expecting a call.

 _"Fareeha's been wounded, bad. I need emergency extraction, yesterday!"_

Winston grimaced. "I can get an Orca there in twenty minutes. What are your-"

 _"She doesn't have twenty minutes!"_

"I'm sorry, but we can't get there any-"

 _"Lena can make it in ten. I know she can. And make sure Angela comes. Pharah won't make it otherwise."_ The call ended with a click.

Winston sighed. "I'm sorry to spring this on you, but-"

Angela was already halfway through the door, barking orders into a communicator. "I need Surgery Team A in the hangar, double time. I need four liters of anesthetic, five containers of hyperbenzine, and three generators. This is not a drill!"

This is what she lived for.

* * *

The Orca was made for, among other things, high speed, covert transport of elite teams into dangerous situations. It contained seats with rollbars, a tactical geosphere, and first-aid kits. It also had parachutes, emergency oxygen, and the finest auto-pilot AI. It also came with faux-leather seats and a basketball half-court. (Angela wasn't sure who made the call to put that in.) Regardless, it was perhaps the best craft in its class.

It was not made for holding a full surgical team, an entire operating room's worth of surgical equipment and supplies, powering said equipment, or all the above while moving at twice its recommended speed.

"Get those generators online. Disinfect the holotable before you put the bedding."

People sometimes asked Angela how she kept her cool on the battlefield. Those people had never been in an emergency operating room before. The battlefield was easy – just point her staff and maintain connection. Dodging bullets was easy compared to sidestepping rushing interns and nurses. Orders? She gave orders in high-pressure situations. Taking them was nothing.

"James, where are those generators? I don't care if you have to pedal, the anesthetic won't work without power!"

The dull hum of the generators, the scraping of the machinery being positioned and repositioned, the hurried breath of a team running around. Not all of those were regular sounds at all the operating rooms she'd ever worked in, but she was no stranger to any of them.

A sudden acceleration threw four members off their feet and tipped over the nanoscope.

"Catch it!"

Two members rushed to the far side and barely caught it.

"Kelly, Joshua, stay there and make sure it stays stable and upright. I can't have the scope jittering while I'm using it. Alex, stay by the anesthetic machine. Jacob, watch the meds."

So she was down four members, lost to making sure the whole damn thing wouldn't fall apart before it even started. Inconvenient. But not insurmountable.

She barely registered the Orca landing until she heard the hiss of the door opening and gentle clack of footsteps on steel.

"Where should I put her?"

"On the holotable," she answered the soldier without even looking. "Roadhog, hold the anesthetic machine still. Reinhardt, the nanoscope."

"And me?"

"Sit down and stay out of the way."

Well, that freed up three of her people, which was good because she needed about five more to ensure this went smoothly.

"Alex, help me take her out of her armor. And get that canister out of her mouth."

The nurse took a welder and threw the doctor a power drill. She caught it and began unscrewing the bolts of the Raptora. Another nurse carried the pieces away as they come off.

What she found underneath was not a pretty sight.

The skin was bruised was all over the front of her entire body, with telltale burns and open wounds. Something had peppered, if not outright barraged, her with a lot of explosives. Her armor had taken the worst brunt of it, thankfully, but the concussive force of that many explosions was still devastating to her body.

There was also a huge cleave wound in her left shoulder. Something had cut through her armor and embedded itself into her shoulder. She didn't even need to do a thorough inspection to know her left clavicle had been cut in two, and she could make out chips of bone and metal in the wound.

An inspection with the nanoscope only made the situation look worse. There were fractures all over her body, but the worst of it was in her rib cage. If you could still call it a rib cage; it was more shards than cage.

The blow to her shoulder was no less disastrous. The shoulder blade was indeed split, as were several vital muscles and tendons. Nerve centers were damaged, and the shoulder joint had been pulverized by what looked like more concussive blows.

And of course they had to stabilize her with that damned gas. It had done its job, she had to admit. Fareeha wouldn't have made it to the table alive without it. But it also introduced huge complications. The rapid regeneration induced by the gas was mindless, so wounds healed without any regard for _how_ they should heal. Flesh pushed into where bone should be, and bone formed where flesh should be. And it still effectively blocked biotic technology.

It wasn't like most of their medical equipment was based on biotics.

They didn't have the equipment to perform the total detoxification needed to get biotics to work. Fareeha probably didn't have enough time for both a full detox procedure and then for the biotics to kick in. They didn't have the equipment to manually recast her bones, staunch all the bleeding, close all the wounds.

Simply put, it was impossible. It couldn't be done.

But now wasn't the time to dwell on such things as "impossibility."

"Start prepping the laser knife. Jake, administer anesthesia. 50% concentration, mind the pressure."

The world shrank. All she saw is her patient. She asked for tools and they materialized out of thin air in her periphery.

"Artificial blood, type O-pos, sixteen em-el."

One would be forgiven for wondering how she was going to pull this off without the help of her biotics. But Angela Zeigler would not have become a world-renowned doctor if all she knew how to do was flip a switch and let technology work for her.

"Staples! And start kneading that putty!"

She's lost herself. She couldn't tell you her name right now if you asked her. She's only dimly aware that those things that are moving are her hands holding tools she only knows the name of by instinct.

"Keep those generators running!"

Apparently, someone forgot to bring the hyperbenzine. The generators are sputtering, two containers of medputty they brought were expired, and the damn ship won't stop rocking. Reality itself seemed to be fighting her.

Unlucky… for reality.

Between the will of Doctor Angela Zeigler and the will of reality, there was no contest.


	18. Slow Day

_I would like to thank Yay899, Nadare, and chocco for their prereading of this chapter_

* * *

Roadhog snuck into his room. Well, as much as someone as big as Roadhog could sneak. In hindsight, maybe walking around like he had something to hide was probably not the best way to hide something.

Oh well.

After a cursory examination of his room for bugs - mostly to make himself feel safe rather than actually find potential bugs and hidden cameras - he turned on his private communicator.

"There you are, _chicharrón_. I've been waiting for you. So what's this big scoop you found for me?" Roadhog hated that social yet disinterested tone of Sombra's. And the way she refused to look him in the eye when they were talking. And the way she was on her holointerface all the time.

"One of the Talon bases in Tuscany has gaps in their patrols. Someone named Ana Amari - goes by the codename of Shrike - is going to try to infiltrate in the coming weeks."

 _That_ got her attention. Or at least, got her to raise an eyebrow. "Ana Amari? Well, that'll annoy some of the heads back at Talon. Poor Purple is probably going to have a fit if I tell her. But I can use this. _Gracias, chicharrón._ "

She stroked her chin dramatically, still not looking at him. "Although, I wonder... where'd you hear this? You're not the secret-digging type."

 _Should have thought of that before making an information trade deal_. "Overheard it."

There was that raised eyebrow again. "From?"

"You're the one who always says never to reveal sources."

She finally looked at him and grinned. "You're learning, _chicharrón_."

And she hung up.

Roadhog stared at the screen for a few more moments before groaning and getting up. Women.

* * *

The cafeteria food was getting better. It now pretended it tasted like food. He supposed that was better than it pretending to look like food, but still tasting like cardboard. (And Roadhog was intimately familiar with how cardboard tasted. Times were tough after the omnium destruction.)

Junkrat was off on another bout of self-proclaimed genius, so Roadhog was going to eat alone today. He took his tray, soggy roast beef sandwich and fake mashed potatoes on top (yes, on top), and sat down at an empty table.

He was about to lift up his mask when someone sat next to him. She plopped down into the seat with a breath and a sigh, leaning forward in exhaustion. It was the doctor, although considerably less well-kept than he normally saw her.

Then he spied her food. It looked like some sort of open-faced sandwich, with cheese oozing, clearly still hot, and bacon strips sinking slightly into the molten yellow on top. Upon closer inspection, it looked like she'd made four servings. Definitely not cafeteria food. He narrowed his eyes at her. Suspect.

Roadhog resisted the temptation to just take her food. He could have lived with the minor inconvenience of turning away while eating, except the doctor then turned to him. "Oh. Hello Roadhog. I didn't see you there."

 _How, exactly, did you not see me?_ he muttered internally.

Externally, he grunted a nothing in response.

This would have all been fine if he could just ignore her and continue eating. But the nature of living with a mask to conceal one's identity meant that eating had to be a private activity. Roadhog had yet to master the skill of eating though a mask, alas.

He was trapped. Leaving now would be cowardly, but he couldn't just sit here and not eat. And the damn smell of the cheese and bacon, toasty and steaming up the air, was making him hungrier.

Thankfully, the doctor seemed inattentive, rambling on with food in her mouth. "God, that was stressful. I've been in the operating room for five hours now. Fareeha just stabilized."

Was she talking to him or her food?

A stomach rumble got a giggle out of her and forced him to concede. Hesitantly, he lifted his mask only enough to expose his mouth, and took a bite out of his sandwich. He worked it with his mouth, chewing slowly and deliberately. The soggy bread turned to mush, while the tough meat refused to break. At least it tasted like food.

"Oh, do you want some of my food? I think I made too much."

That would explain why it didn't look or smell like the cafeteria food. He groaned inwardly. Now that the offer was made, he _really_ wanted to take her up on it. It had to be better than this.

But his mother had taught him to never waste food, a principle that had served him well both in the ALF and in the wasteland. He had his portion, and unappetizing as it was, he had to finish it.

With a heavy heart and whining stomach, he waved her offer off.

"Are you sure? There's no way I can finish all this."

 _Appeal to my value system, the clever devil._ Now he was hesitating, showing weakness.

"It's called _käseschnitte_. It's an oven-baked open-faced cheese toast with toppings. I know the bacon is bad for me, but..." She was taking advantage of his weakness. Annoying. But it did sound good.

Another stomach growl. Roadhog looked down at his sandwich, now falling apart from sogginess and poor construction.

He held up one finger to indicate he just wanted a piece.

She giggled and obliged him, handing him one of the pieces of toast. Lifting his mask again, he took a measured bite, and again chewed slowly. He allowed himself to savor the richness of the cheese, the salt of the bacon, the crunch of the bread.

Another giggle broke him from his rumination. "I take it you like it."

He shrugged noncommittally.

"I saw you smiling, Roadhog. Don't lie."

A scowl formed on his face, and Roadhog pulled his mask back down. This was why he wore a damn mask in the first place.

Then he looked back down at the piece of toast in his hand, still warm, cheese slightly spilling over the edge and dripping down. He sighed in defeat, lifted the mask back up, and took another bite. He heard another giggle for his trouble.

"You know, they call it _croûte au fromage_ in the French-speaking parts of Switzerland. Sounds fancy, but it just means 'cheese crust.'" The smile on her face suddenly vanished, replaced with a somber look. Roadhog inclined his head in inquisition.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just... remembering an old friend."

She shook her head. "Don't concern yourself with it. How has your time with Overwatch been?"

He shrugged, still chewing. He reached for his other sandwich, soggy mess and all, and took another bite.

For a while, the two sat wordless, only the undignified sound of chewing between them.

Then a ping came from the doctor's communicator.

"Oh, she's awake? Alright, I'll be right over." She stood up, taking her unfinished toast in her mouth and taking another piece in her hand. She gestured to the remaining toast on her plate and said something into her food. And with that, she left the table.

Roadhog blinked after her a few times before taking another bite of his food.

* * *

"Come on, you big lug, I don't got all day."

Roadhog muttered something about how no one respected _his_ time, but his complaints went unheard.

Junkrat dragged Roadhog to his workshop. Well, _a_ workshop. Roadhog didn't know if it was Junkrat's, or if he was squatting.

"Look what I made!" He hoisted up a vest... that looked exactly like his normal vest.

Roadhog cocked his head.

"Oh, you're wondering what's so special about this one, do you? Well, let me tell you. As soon as the vest is damaged beyond a critical threshold, it automatically primes the grenades and releases them."

Roadhog cocked his head the other way.

"Genius, isn't it? I designed it me-self. You know how hard it is to design something to trigger on breaking?"

"What, exactly is the threshold for the trigger?"

"Oh, it's pretty severe, mate. Near total destruction. Another challenge. How do make something keep working even when it's almost broken, but not broken enough."

"...You are supposed to _wear_ this vest when it's getting almost destroyed?"

Junkrat gave him a quizzical look. "Well, duh. What else are you supposed to do with a vest?"

"So, you made a weapon that only works when you get shot at?"

"...I guess? What's wrong with that?"

"What happens when you get shot at, Jamison?"

Junkrat's confusion would be adorable if it weren't so idiotic. "You... die?"

"And your weapon only works when you..."

"...Get shot at?"

"Put the two together. Your vest only works when you..."

"...Die?"

Roadhog waited. Junkrat's realization never came.


End file.
